The World I Know
by RealmOfPossibility
Summary: Post-2x02: Emma and Snow are on the run. And the path they take will threaten both their lives...
1. Chapter 1

Hi readers,

I am back after a couple of months without writing. Came up with a little idea the other day and decided to see where it would go. Deviates from the Season 2 storyline from the moment Snow tells Emma to "run!" in Episode 2. I decided to ask the question, 'What would happen if Emma and Snow escaped Mulan and went on the run, only to end up…?

Please enjoy.

**The World I Know**

Chapter 1

It was going to happen any minute now. Practically any moment.

Perhaps among the trees ahead. Or in that ditch off to the side of the path. Maybe even hidden up above, waiting on the thick branch of a tree. Whichever way it happened, she was preparing herself. Bracing herself.

_Gotcha!_

That was the word she was readying herself for. Or something like it. That's what they'd say as they jumped out at her. And she'd start in surprise, playing along with the joke. And everyone would sit around and have a good laugh. Mostly at her expense, but also because it had been such a tremendous prank. One of the best.

Oh, how they'd all laugh.

Mary Margaret, who was stumbling along next to her, bound at the wrist by thick ropes.

The woman with the long skirt and knitted shawl.

The warrior gripping her sword as if the Mongol hordes were at their heels.

And she, Emma Swan, saviour of Storybrooke, breaker of the curse.

Emma blinked rapidly as a bead of sweat made its way down from her forehead, through her eyebrow and into her eye. For the millionth time, she adjusted the angle of her wrists and hissed as the rope confining her hands rubbed against an already raw wound. Her neck and head seemed to jolt with every step and she'd tripped over fallen branches, loose rocks and even her own feet too many times to count. She felt out of breath, unfit for such exertion. How many miles had they walked?

And soon they passed by that clump of trees. And they walked by that ditch. And moved under that thick branch of the tree hanging high above.

There was no 'gotcha.' Nobody laughed. And the woman in the shawl continued to tread alongside the warrior with her sword. And Emma continued to stagger along next to her friend-turned-mother.

Her head hurt from when she'd been spewed out of the portal alongside Mary Margaret. No, wait, that wasn't right. Mary Margaret had been spewed out alongside _her_. Emma was the one who'd been yanked into the dark swirling hurricane by the wraith. A wraith meant for Regina. She'd pushed Regina out of the way. Somehow, her promise to Henry, that Regina not die, had become cemented into her brain enough that instinct simply took over.

Leaving her in the middle of…where exactly? The words 'Enchanted Forest' just couldn't find purchase in her mind. They refused to take hold.

And if that weren't bad enough, what about leaving her son with the Evil Queen? _The Evil Queen_. As if that phrase were any better than 'Enchanted Forest.' Just how evil was an Evil Queen exactly? She knew Regina the Mayor. Powerful and controlling to be sure. But, one could hardly say _evil_, not in its truest sense. Emma suddenly wished she'd concentrated harder on Henry's book. Studied the pictures of the woman dressed in black, sneer perpetually plastered over her guarded face. Read closely the descriptions of how many times she'd tried to kill Snow White. How many times she'd killed others….

But, there were things Emma couldn't quite reconcile. Like the look on Regina's face when she realised Henry had asked Emma to protect her. It didn't quite fit the profile of an Evil Queen. That pained smile as if she couldn't quite understand it, couldn't quite _believe_ it, but was grateful nonetheless. That wasn't the face of evil. That was the face of somebody's mother, desperate for her child's approval.

Was it possible that Regina had no intention of hurting Henry? Had that brief second convinced her?

Emma sure hoped so.

But, should Regina indeed revert to her own past nature, Henry was by no means unprotected. David would protect him. David would guard him as a soldier would guard his post. David would see not a hair on his head injured. Emma instinctively knew that from the sudden un-David Nolan-like way he had started to take charge in the aftermath of the curse, had defended her to Dr Whale…

David. Her father.

She shook her head. And added it to the ever-increasing list of reasons why she was going insane.

He had cried. That was the moment that seemed to be staying fixed in her brain. At the moment of their meeting, of their reunion. Tears had actually fallen unashamedly down his bewildered, handsome face. The only times Emma had seen grown men cry were when they were being hauled off to jail. The weak ones always cried. As if their macho façade had been brutally stripped away, reducing them to the scared little boys they had been all along. But, David hadn't been scared. Only staring at her in the most wondrous way as he stretched a hand toward her to bury it in her hair. As if all the world had been stripped back to this moment, a moment thought lost forever. A dream long-wished for, but finally fulfilled. Emma could still imagine his hand grasping the strands of her hair so gently, yet firmly. _Protectively_, a voice whispered from the back of her mind.

She was jolted back to reality by her feet sinking.

The terrain had been changing so slowly, she hadn't really noticed. Suddenly, there was sand beneath her feet, which were disappearing into it, making it harder still to take the next step and the next. She lost her balance and went down on one knee, before feeling herself being yanked forward by the horse she was tied to.

"Emma!"

"No talking!" the warrior snapped. She barely cast a glance at Emma, who struggled to her feet, before resuming her stumbling, swaying gait. Her wrists burned again.

Emma glanced sideways at Mary Margaret, who had called out her name at the risk of incurring the warrior's wrath. The woman's forehead was creased in worry, her eyes wide, trying desperately to communicate what she was forbidden to say. Emma met her eyes with a weak smile, her eyes crinkling slightly, her lips barely curving upwards.

Then there was _her_.

Talk about Dr Jekyll and Mr…

That was a bad example. What was a good example to describe someone who seemed to turn badass in the blink of an eye? Emma almost laughed out loud at the memory of Mary Margaret, _Mary Margaret_, setting fire to a demon from the gates of hell. Making the deadly thing turn tail and run away. And she had barely batted an eyelid. Her face was the same, but there was something _else _there now. It had been evident in the way she had looked at Emma when they reunited. As if she knew Emma already, was connected to her already. Her hands had been on her face and her arms around Emma before she could fully understand just what the hell was going on.

Was it awful to feel like she was hugging a stranger?

Her feet sank into the sand again.

* * *

_Don't push it, Snow_.

How well he knew her, Snow thought, ducking her head to avoid a low-lying branch. She winced at a sharp pain in her back, courtesy of the fall into the portal. Well, not so much a fall as a frantic, flailing leap into the jaws of madness. She was sure her heart had stopped beating for a moment, at the vision of Emma being dragged into the vortex. She remembered the way her chest had felt, all those years ago, when she had caught the final glimpse of the tiny form in David's arms, knowing the future had grown impossibly dark. Then, she'd had no choice and only the desperate hope that some day she'd be able to explain why. _Why_.

This time, she'd had no choice either. Her child had been flung into the unknown once again and this time, she wouldn't be alone. She _wouldn't_.

She didn't know how Emma was feeling. Judging from their little confrontation back in Storybrooke-_which curse is worse?-_she was a little off-balance. Was that such a surprise though? Had family, love, ever come easily? Emma had no idea where she was coming from. No knowledge of the fear, the heartache, the sacrifice endured to ensure her survival. The sheer incredulity of laying eyes on her daughter as if for the first time, the emotions almost too powerful to bear. Yet, the reunion had been short-lived and distant.

No, the path to love had never been easy.

Snow cast her eyes to the land around her. The shoreline they were walking along was as dull and grey as the sky above. Nothing seemed to exist outside the four of them. No birds. No people. Just the sound of the water lazily lapping, as if it, too, had no energy, no life to form waves. The breeze was chilly, though it hardly carried the iciness of winter in Storybrooke. It carried something else though.

An emptiness. A silence.

"What is this place?" Emma had called out only a little while ago.

"Our home," had come the terse response.

They had wondered if there was anything left to return to after the curse. If their land even existed anymore or if there was only a bottomless void drifting in and out of memory. The reality was tangible if not bleak. There was indeed land here, but no life.

No hope.

With the warrior leading them on, Snow jolted and jerked her way along the water's edge. She gazed into the distance, remaining alert, considering their options, which were few. Remain the prisoner of this woman and be taken who knew where? The longer they remained captive, the quicker precious hours and days flew by, separating them ever further from their family. Or…

Escape.

Rid themselves of their captors and take their chances…out there. Wherever _there_ was. It was certainly nothing Snow recognised. The land of her youth had utterly disappeared. But, they could lose themselves amongst the trees and hidden woods, finding sustenance and shelter in the forest. And then, when they had distanced themselves enough, begin the long process of finding a way back to Storybrooke.

They needed time.

And information.

And magic.

And freedom.

They reached the edge of the beach and a fork in the path and turned left, apparently heading for the shelter of the trees beyond the shore. As they moved closer to their destination, voices could eventually be heard and signs of habitation became apparent. Perhaps they were approaching some kind of settlement.

Snow took a keen interest in their surroundings, the beginnings of a plan taking shape in her mind. First, they needed to be untied from this horse. They needed mobility. They had cooperated quietly so far, which meant any sudden move on their part would carry the element of surprise. Snow was confident they could outrun the softer, weaker woman. It was the other one they needed to be wary of. She couldn't communicate any of this to Emma. She just had to hope that when the time came, Emma would instinctively follow.

Finally, the trees parted and they stepped into a civilisation of sorts. Tents dotted along the edge of the trees. Temporary shelters for homeless wanderers. A well in the middle of the settlement. More tents, which seemed to act as primitive workshops, the sound of thudding and clanking of metal and wood heard within. People milling around, some still looking shell-shocked, others angry.

"It's like they're refugees," Emma commented.

"We're survivors," the angry warrior snapped again.

Snow glanced around at those standing nearby. There were a lot of women and children and none of them looked capable of chasing anyone down. There were a number of men on the other side of the camp. A few soldiers, but nobody particularly threatening. Snow studied the place beyond the settlement. If they were able to reach that clump of trees, they'd be back in the forest. It was barely a hundred metres.

They could run a hundred metres. Snow glanced over at Emma. They could do it.

She feigned meek weariness as the warrior approached her and began untying them from the horse. Yet, even as they were freed from the animal, Snow's muscles tensed, on alert for the precious seconds they would need to sprint away. The warrior indicated they should go in front. Snow stepped forward, watching the corner of her vision. The woman stayed directly behind her, no more than a few paces.

The element of surprise.

Another glance toward Emma.

She slowed slightly, feeling the woman behind her. Clenching her hands together, Snow wound up, turned marginally and swung her arms, thumping them into the warrior's abdomen. She barely had time to feel the woman crumple to her feet, before she spun and shouted.

"Emma! Run!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thanks for your encouragement as we embark on this new story. Because it's based early in season 2, when I write from Emma's perspective, she'll be thinking of her mother as Mary Margaret, while when writing from Snow's POV, I will refer to her as such. I'm still not sure what the nature of their relationship will be. All I know is they'll grow closer through circumstances-you'll find out what those are soon enough ;)**

**A/N 2 I know this was a pretty quick update. Don't get too used to it...**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2**

The shout came from nowhere.

"Emma! Run!"

Emma snapped her head to the right and in the split second it took for her to register Mary Margaret taking off across the camp, her own legs began moving, awkwardly at first as she adjusted to running with her hands still tied together. She felt off-balance, all over the place, her bound hands held against her chest. They would catch her in a second if she stayed like this. After a few strides, she lowered her arms, leaned forward slightly and found a more natural rhythm. Emma leapt over a bench and frowned in determination at the tree-line Mary Margaret was heading towards.

_Just make it to the trees. _She knew that had to be the plan. The bold, crazy plan to run away from one crazy situation straight into another.

She barely registered the astonished expressions on the faces of the women as she passed them by, and the looks somewhat akin to awe on the faces of the children. They must have looked a sight to these people with their strange clothes, but most of all with their hands tied and seemingly making a break for it. Emma braced herself to shove anyone and everyone who tried to get in her way.

The trees seemed miles away and appeared to be moving backwards even as they ran forwards, like trying to move towards a rainbow only to have it edge away, frustratingly out of reach. She was a good runner, but Emma expected to be taken down at any moment.

Against her better judgment, Emma turned her head for a moment to see who might be in pursuit. She expected anything. Soldiers, dogs, even the warrior herself charging at their backs, weapons raised to cut them down. Her upper body swung from side to side as she tried not to break her stride at the new angle, hair flying all around her head and into her face. A few men had started running after them, but it was the warrior who caught her attention. She had grabbed something and was now swinging it around and around with a strap, faster and faster. Emma recognised it immediately.

A slingshot. She was going to throw a slingshot at them. Like having a fastball pitched right at their heads, only worse because it would be a jagged-edged rock instead of a leather-bound ball. A good shot could kill its target. A well aimed shot could render one of them lame or winded. Enough to knock the wind out of the sails of their escape.

As the warrior released the weapon, Emma lengthened her stride and reached forward, grabbing Mary Margaret by the scruff of her collar. She pushed down as they ran and cried a warning.

"Duck!"

She felt Mary Margaret flinch and hunch herself over, stumbling slightly. An instant later a large black rock hurtled past, barely inches from her head.

They were now merely twenty metres from the trees.

Emma released Mary Margaret's collar and they sped up again. She felt her mouth widen as she panted and gasped her way forward. Chasing criminals had sometimes required running, but not like this. This was something more like when she had been down in the cavern under Storybrooke, running from the dragon.

Running for her life.

A desperate, fumbling dash.

She heard shouts of anger and frustration coming from behind them. The trees loomed above them and Mary Margaret reached out and grabbed one, only to use it to push herself off again.

"Don't stop!" she panted, as she hopped and jumped her way through the long grass, dodging around the small, thin saplings towards the bigger, thicker trees that would enable their escape.

Emma followed her along a rudimentary path, her legs jolting as she felt them move downhill. She took shorter steps to keep herself from hurtling to the ground. She lurched from tree to tree, using them to keep herself upright and then to boost her speed. The loose rocks and dirt caused her to skid occasionally and she swore in fear of slipping over and ending their escape before it had even begun.

Ahead, Mary Margaret's head was jerking from left to right, looking for their next move. Emma could only watch and keep up. Where the hell were they going to go? She didn't dare look back, not wanting to sacrifice speed for knowledge. What knowledge was there to gain anyway? That hardened, experienced warriors had them in their sights? That any moment might bring another rock at their backs-or worse? She could imagine the kinds of weapons they used here. That should they be caught, they'd probably be strung up on one of the trees they were currently swerving around?

"Get off the path!" Mary Margaret cried and veered to her left, jumping over a fallen log and taking off into the undergrowth. Emma followed in her wake, instantly feeling a whip-thin branch catch her across the face, scratching a jagged little tear into her cheek. She scrunched her face at the sudden sting, but gritted her teeth and continued on.

The scrub was thick here and Emma could barely see Mary Margaret ahead of her. The now enormous trees cast their shadow, blocking out the sun to a dim yellow glow. She caught the occasional flash of a pink cardigan and infrequent calls of "Emma!" and "this way!" to guide her on. They had slowed considerably as they were attacked from all sides by sharp twigs, thorns and briars, their faces and arms scratched too many times to count, their clothes being torn with each violent brush against the bushes.

As Emma charged through a thick clump of foliage, an arm suddenly swung out and grabbed the sleeve of her jacket. She cried out and tried to fling it off.

"It's ok! It's ok! It's just me." Mary Margaret held on harder and Emma gasped in relief, jerking to a stop and then taking the few steps back to where the dark-haired woman had crouched behind a large, dead trunk. For long moments, they hunched over, panting to get their breath under control in order to hear the sounds of the forest around them.

"Are you ok?" Mary Margaret whispered between breaths. "You saved me back there."

Emma could do nothing for a moment but breathe in and out as she stared at the other woman. She was finally able to nod sharply.

"I'm fine." Lifting her arms, she wiped her cheek with one shoulder, feeling a thin trickle of blood sliding down towards her chin. "You?"

Mary Margaret nodded that she was, in fact, ok, stared at her a moment longer, then grabbed Emma's arms and pulled them down, studying the knots holding the rope in place. She turned Emma's wrists this way and that, before attempting to pull at the knots.

"We've got to get these undone," she said urgently, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she unpicked the rope. "They're slowing us down way too much."

A loud cry caused them both to freeze. All noise seemed to die away. Even the wind seemed to stop moving the trees. They met each other's eyes for a moment, both thinking the same thing.

_Don't come this way._

Emma looked up at the canopy, catching glimpses of the sky between the topmost branches. Her eyes darted back and forth in concentration, straining to hear their pursuers. She felt her breath speed up and the adrenaline begin to pump through her veins again as she heard...

Dogs.

She could hear them barking at a distance, followed by loud voices.

They were screwed.

As she lowered her eyes back to Mary Margaret, the other woman was already on her feet, yanking Emma up.

"The ropes will have to wait. Come on!"

They resumed their endless weaving back and forth between the trees. They were still moving downhill and as Emma barrelled her way along, she could hear a distant low roar coming from somewhere ahead, increasing in volume as they approached it. Her eyes continued to search out the way in front of her, all the while keeping an eye out for their pursuers, should they come out of nowhere.

"What's that noise?" she panted, ducking a low-hanging branch.

Mary Margaret cast a brief look behind her.

"I think it's a river."

Minutes later, the assumption proved correct. The dull roar gave way to the clearer sound of rushing water below them.

Emma skidded to a stop, almost crashing into Mary Margaret, who had halted suddenly in front of her. She stared over her mother's shoulder. They could go no further forward. Over the ledge in front of them, ten metres below, the river flowed. Not so fast as to be unnavigable, but fast enough to carry a floating object beyond the reach of anyone following the river's path.

"The dogs will lose our scent," Mary Margaret murmured and Emma took a deep breath. The water looked cold and murky. Much like their current predicament.

As if to add urgency to their plight, the sound of the dogs broke through the silence again, closer than before.

Mary Margaret turned around and Emma could see the determination in her eyes. Determination to get them out of this. Determination to keep them safe. Emma felt a little bewildered that, so far, she had followed Mary Margaret blindly like a lost puppy. Tied to the horse, she'd wandered along beside her, mouth open like an idiot, trying to figure out where on earth she was, completely clueless to the fact that her mother might have been planning their escape. Why hadn't _she_ thought of planning their escape? After all, she was an expert at running away. She seemed to be sluggish, constantly two steps behind in both thought and action. Maybe she'd hit her head harder than she'd thought when falling out of the portal because right now, she wasn't sure she knew who to be with this version of Mary Margaret. This daring, take-charge, execute-an-escape-plan side of a woman who looked like a friend she'd once known. The strength and resolve of a person used to living close to the edge.

"This is our best chance Emma," Mary Margaret said firmly and Emma found herself nodding obediently, while silently feeling disgusted with herself for offering nothing in the way of a helpful and equally audacious suggestion. But, right now, there wasn't really time for reflection or self-reproach. She joined her mother and they stood side by side at the edge of the ledge, staring down into the water below. Mary Margaret pointed and nudged her and they moved further along, where the trees had either died and fallen or been cut down, leaving a clear space down to the river.

"I'll jump first," Mary Margaret said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Count ten seconds, then follow me. Stay as low in the water as you can. Let it carry you. I'll keep an eye out for a place to get ashore further along." She stared first at Emma's bound hands, then her own. "We'll have to get rid of these after." Her eyes studied Emma's carefully. "You ok to jump?"

Emma felt oddly defensive at the question.

"Of course."

Mary Margaret nodded and Emma watched as she stepped as close to the edge as possible, the toes of her shoes hanging over. Her eyes scanned the water for a moment, then she bent her knees, braced herself and jumped.

Emma watched anxiously as her mother hit the water with a splash, only breathing again once she saw her break through the surface and begin sliding away downstream. Counting to ten, Emma mirrored Mary Margaret's position. She hesitated for a moment, almost allowing herself to give way to the magnitude of what was happening.

Plenty of time for a meltdown later. She'd done enough bumbling about.

Then she threw herself off the ledge into the river's depths.

* * *

It was hard to turn around to check just exactly where Emma was. Snow spat out another mouthful of water and closed her eyes as a wave hit her in the face. The water had been deceptively calm from up high. Now it seemed to be churning and turning over at a much faster rate.

It was hard to tell how long they'd been in the water. It was cold enough to feel like far longer than it had probably been. Snow felt a chill creep into her bones, but she was satisfied for the moment. They'd rounded several bends and no one had appeared either on the riverbank or the overhanging ledge above. With any luck, they would not be discovered in the river and could simply let it carry them to freedom.

Of course, they couldn't stay in the water indefinitely. The fact that they were moving relatively quickly more than likely meant they were moving _toward_ something. Like a waterfall. Or a merging of two separate rivers into one, which would make the water even choppier and increase the likelihood of them being dashed onto rocks.

Snow rolled in the water onto her back and eagerly scanned the waterway behind her. At first, all she could see was the river bumping along and the sunlight reflecting brightly in her eyes, making her blink rapidly to clear her vision. Then, twenty metres away, she caught a glimpse of a head bobbing in the water.

Emma.

She knew Emma could swim, but she felt her heart clench in relief all the same.

It had all been happening too fast. There had not been a single moment of time to think, to simply catch their breath and take stock of the situation. Not since their initial reunion back in Storybrooke. It had just been one hit after another, one life-changing event followed by another, equally explosive circumstance. Certainly no opportunity to talk things through, to find out what anything meant after twenty-eight years. What that wild, wary look in Emma's eyes was, the one that had been present ever since the curse had broken.

Her heart clenched again, this time aching for her daughter. Snow was no stranger to the dangers of the Enchanted Forest. The nature of the curse meant it hardly felt like any time at all since she had been on the run from the Evil Queen, always on alert, always trying to stay one step ahead of the vengeful woman. Being on the run seemed like second nature to her and it had been all too easy to go back to that mindset, to draw on that knowledge from before. Having learned a little of Emma's history, Snow knew that her daughter had been something of a drifter. That years in foster care had taught her to question everyone and to never get too comfortable anywhere. But, Snow was pretty sure Emma had never had to run for her life. Not like this.

What could she be thinking right now?

Snow turned back over and faced forward, once more scrutinising both sides of the river. If she had to guess, she'd say they'd drifted a couple of miles by now. Enough to start looking for a place to get out of the river and think about their next step. She looked ahead and spotted a cluster of rocks. Beyond them seemed to be a patch of sand and then the forest closed in again. It seemed a relatively safe choice.

Snow began swimming to the left side of the river. Turning her head, she spotted Emma again and raised her hands, motioning toward the rocks. Hoping Emma would see and understand, she awkwardly pushed her arms through the water, kicking with her legs to create some power. She approached the rocks quite quickly and reached out, feeling the slippery surface under her hands. Her muscles tensed as she felt the water try to pull her past and waited until she became used to the reasonably strong tug of the current.

Hearing the slap of water on rock, she turned to see Emma a metre away, holding on grimly to the rocks. Snow beckoned Emma over with her head.

"Here. I need you to give me a boost."

Emma swam over until she was treading water right beside Snow. She watched as her daughter caught her breath, wedged herself between two rocks, then placed her arms under the water. Snow braced herself on a rock and lifted her leg, finding purchase on Emma's submerged arms. She pushed down with her leg, feeling Emma's arms offer resistance and heaved herself out of the water. She wrenched herself up until she landed on a flat piece of rock and lay for a moment, breathing heavily.

Moments later, she rolled over onto her knees and reached down to Emma in the water. Between the two of them, they managed to drag and jerk and twist and scramble until Emma finally lay down on the rock beside her. They stayed that way for long minutes, neither saying a word. For that moment, it was just enough to be safe.

Finally, Snow sat up, aware that they were still out in the open. She gestured to the trees behind them and got to her feet.

"Come on. We need to keep going. We'll find protection in the trees and then we can work on getting these ropes off." She watched carefully as Emma slowly stood up and faced her. Snow smiled gently. "Hey," she said softly. "We made it." She saw Emma swallow hard and nod, her green eyes wide, before casting a glance into the darkness of the forest.

Snow followed her gaze, before taking one last look back at the river. They'd fled one danger.

How many more lay ahead?

She tugged on Emma's arm, before stepping forward, leading her daughter into the dim refuge of the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N What's the cure for a horrible day at work? Writing this story! If bad things happen in this chapter, it will give you an indication as to how bad the day was. If nothing bad happens, my mood obviously improved considerably…**

**A/N 2 Thanks for reading. And if you enjoy it, there's the cherry on top right there :)**

Chapter 3

Emma clamped her jaws together, but she couldn't stop her chin from quivering uncontrollably. Inside her mouth, her teeth chatted together repetitively, but without rhythm and she was surprised that she hadn't bitten her tongue or the inside of her cheek yet.

She was freezing.

And wet.

And sore.

She had long ago lost count of how many times she had tripped over fallen logs and scattered rocks, her arms and legs flailing in a desperate attempt to stay upright. They seemed to come from nowhere, jumping out at her at the very last second to ensnare her feet. She no longer knew how often she had felt her face be whipped by low-hanging branches. She would have guessed often, judging from the tiny, irritating, itching trickles of blood on her cheeks that never seemed to disappear, no matter how many times she rubbed her hands over them. Hands that were, thankfully, free of the ropes that had bound them. All that had achieved was to cover her hands in a bloody, smudged, sticky residue and make her cheeks feel stiff like she was wearing too much poorly-applied makeup. Neither did she know how long her limbs had been dragging because of her waterlogged clothes. She was sure she would be able to wring them out even now, hours later.

It felt like hours anyway.

She wasn't even sure if she was tired anymore, or just numb from the constant movement. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise since she had absolutely no idea where they were going or how long it would take to get there. They simply continued forward, ever forward, one foot in front of the other, and the only landscape that was visible was trees, trees and more trees. The forest was monotonous in its constancy.

As she trailed behind Mary Margaret, Emma noticed her face tilting upward, her eyes glancing up at the sky from time to time, seeming to increase her pace after each look. Emma could guess why.

The sun was inching its way ever closer to the horizon.

Bringing with it the night. Darkness and cold. Two things that would not help right now.

Mary Margaret hadn't spoken since they had left the river behind them and Emma herself hadn't ventured to say a word. It had been an unspoken delegation of authority between them that Mary Margaret would lead and Emma would follow. Which was, of course, a complete role reversal of the past year.

Or was it?

Emma found herself following the same train of thought as she had during their escape. Of wondering just what the nature of her relationship with Mary Margaret was. It was hard not to feel utterly conflicted.

It was Mary Margaret who had found Emma bunking down in her car and offered her a room when she had first come to town. And when she had found herself in a moment of doubt before taking the stage in her campaign for Sheriff, it had been Mary Margaret who had spoken quietly, but oh so wisely, to help her find the root of her uncertainty. And the angry way she had chastised Emma for trying to take Henry out of Storybrooke. And what about that moment in the room with Jefferson? When Emma had stood to find the gun pointed at her face for a few seconds, before _Mary Margaret_ had taken him down. Had the Snow White part of her called from the deep, flying upward from within for that one moment?

Maybe all those moments. Her mother as Counsellor. Maybe not even a Dark Curse could break an instinct.

Perhaps it wasn't a role reversal after all. Perhaps it was simply a cementing of those roles.

So, Mary Margaret was the scout and navigator and Emma the rearguard, which was just a fancy way of saying she was straggling behind and she'd be floundering without her mother. And like she had felt with her earlier thoughts, Emma wasn't sure she liked the taste of that bitter pill. Of knowing she wasn't quite as independent as she'd tried to make herself out to be. Not quite as intimidating. Not quite the leader.

If she wasn't that, then what on earth was she?

She pulled herself back to the present. Where were they going anyway? Each step felt as if it were taking them further from Storybrooke, though Emma had no idea where that was now. On the other side of the universe. It felt like it should be behind them, where they'd first been captured by the warrior. That if they waited, the swirling vortex would return and they'd simply jump through and return home.

This wasn't home.

Not even close.

For someone who had never really had a home (Tallahassee barely qualified, not since she'd been hauled off in handcuffs), it seemed ironic to Emma that she should feel such a longing for Storybrooke. She imagined it was because that was where Henry was, waiting for her to come back and be his mother. She'd made a life there though. A home. A job. Friends. A nice little life. So many things that had happened for the first time.

Then it had all been blown apart.

Now she was drifting, much like she had been for most of her life. Cast adrift in a sea of the unknown with nothing but the clothes on her back. And a mother. It didn't quite feel real yet that, this time, she wasn't alone.

It was with that thought that Emma again came back to the present, to see the object of her musings slowing down in front of her. Emma slowed her own gait and came to a halt beside Mary Margaret. As they caught their breath, Emma watched her mother's face intently.

"You don't know where we are, do you?" she finally asked in a low voice. She glanced around into the gloom, as if ears were listening from the shadows, before turning back to face the other woman.

Mary Margaret gazed at her, her eyes softening in apology.

"No," she replied simply. "I have no idea." She turned in a circle, her feet shuffling and disturbing the dirt and loose rock on the ground beneath her. "I don't think I've recognised a single thing since we came here." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "It might as well be the void Regina said it was, for all I can do for us right now." She looked back at Emma. "We need..." she lifted a hand and let it drop back to her side with a slap. "We need someone to give us information. We probably need magic to get back too."

"Can you think of anyone?" Emma asked uncertainly.

"Not here." Mary Margaret shook her head. "Practically everyone that I would turn to is back in Storybrooke. We need to get out of this forest. Then I can get my bearings and perhaps find a familiar landmark. That would at least tell me where we are." She lifted her head to the ever-darkening sky. "But, that's not even our most pressing problem. We need somewhere warm and dry to spend the night. It'll be dark soon."

_Is there anywhere? _Emma thought pessimistically. She dragged herself on nonetheless.

* * *

It felt as if the forest had grown even darker since they'd stopped. The shadows shifted and changed every minute. The silence seemed tangible, surrounding them on every side, broken only by the lonely calls of a solitary bird somewhere high above.

Yet, it wasn't completely foreign. Not to Snow.

How often had she done this before? Moving like a shadow between the trees, one step ahead of her enemies, relying on her instincts-and her bow-to stay alive. Back then, though, she'd only had to think of protecting herself, taking care of herself.

Now there was another, infinitely more precious, load to bear. Someone who quite possibly couldn't do without her right now. She had to take care of Emma. Had to defend Emma. She'd never had the chance before. And now she just had to do it in such a way as to not let Emma know she was doing it.

She again led them forward, more carefully now, no longer running, yet moving urgently. Who knew how far the warrior would pursue them across this land? Snow took some comfort from the fact that they had never revealed their names. Sure, they had generated a high level of interest, with their strange clothes and even stranger way of talking, but those things could be hidden. Changed. No, without a name, the warrior would have a lot less to go on. If they could just stay out of sight for a day or two, they could make a plan. A plan that would get them home. And perhaps this time, her reunion with David could last a little longer than a day.

Her ears, trained by time spent in the forest, caught the sounds of something ahead. She half turned her head and held up a hand to stop Emma from coming any further. In the quiet and gathering darkness, Snow listened, closing her eyes in concentration. She lifted her head slightly, catching a scent of smoke. A fire. Probably small. A campfire maybe? She tilted her head. Low murmurings. Voices.

They had stumbled upon someone's camp. It wasn't possible that the warrior had overtaken them.

Who were these strangers?

"What is it?" Emma breathed in her ear, taking hold of her arm softly.

Snow turned and caught her eye.

There's a camp, somewhere up ahead of us." She saw Emma's eyes flit away and flash with apprehension.

"The warrior?" Emma asked.

Snow shook her head.

"No, she couldn't have overtaken us so quickly without our knowledge. This is someone else. More than one. I can hear them talking." She watched Emma's eyes narrow as she listened for the voices. "Stay here. I'm going to go check it out. If we're lucky, we may be able to…borrow…some things without getting caught." She made to move, but Emma's grip tightened.

"Are you kidding me?" Emma whispered indignantly, her eyes wide in the dim light. "You're going to leave me here? You forget that I was a thief too, you know. I can _borrow_ as much as the next person."

Snow considered her daughter carefully. She had never thought that stealing would be the family business, but it seemed that survival was perhaps one thing they had in common. It was something, anyway. Two was always riskier than one, but what choice did they have? She didn't really want to leave Emma any more than Emma wanted to be left. The number of times she had had to stop herself, hold herself back, to prevent herself from reaching out to grasp Emma's hand in order to keep her close. Keep them together.

While they ran through the forest with enemies at their heels.

Hardly a glorious beginning to their relationship. But, wasn't it better than another twenty-eight years apart? Or never knowing at all?

Finally, she nodded.

"Stay behind me. Don't say a word, not even a whisper. Tread as carefully as you can. If I say 'run,' you run."

Emma nodded. Snow mimicked the gesture and turned back to their path. This time, she did reach out blindly behind her, wondering if Emma would see her hand and take it. She couldn't push her, not when her daughter's feelings over being sent away still clearly made her defensive. In the look of resigned reproval on the street in Storybrooke. And the tone of her voice just now. Yes, best to leave it up to Emma.

She couldn't deny the flutter of pleasure, of satisfaction she felt when her hand was grasped between Emma's own.

They started forward cautiously, slowly. It was getting hard to make out the way in front of them. Snow allowed her other senses to be her guide. True to her word, she heard almost nothing of Emma, their joined hands the only indication she was there at all.

There were other things in the forest. Snuffling and grunting from all sides, twittering and chatting amongst the settling forest creatures. The darkness felt like an actual pressure on her shoulders and Snow's heart began thudding in her chest. She unconsciously squeezed Emma's hand, feeling somewhat startled when Emma squeezed back, only to keep the grip tight as they moved along.

Unknown minutes, unknown metres passed when Snow caught a glimpse of something glimmering ahead.

The fire.

She could hear its crackles and snaps more clearly now. At least it would cover any sound of their approach.

When they were barely twenty metres from the camp, Snow stopped and pulled Emma flush against her, placing her hands on Emma's arms. She moved her head until they were cheek to cheek and her voice was barely a breath in Emma's ear.

"Now, I _need_ you to stay here. I want to find out how many there are and if they have anything we could want. I'll come back. I promise." She tightened her grip on Emma's arms until she felt the woman nod against her.

Snow released Emma and stepped back. Turning slowly, she took a step forward, then another. She continued in this methodical way until she could hear clear voices coming from the camp.

Men.

At least two.

The moment she actually saw the camp, she ducked down, but continued moving. She kept her gaze on the fire, only allowing her eyes to move once she saw the figures of the men sitting in front of it. There were three of them. Snow sidled up and around to a tree directly behind the group and pressed against it. Edging her head out from behind it, she let her gaze cover the ground around and behind the men who were less than ten metres away.

She spotted the blanket first and her eyes narrowed as she considered it. A fire of their own was out of the question. It was simply too dangerous in an unknown forest with unknown enemies waiting nearby. But, they needed something to stave off the chill, especially in their still-damp clothes.

When she saw the bow and a small quiver of arrows, her heart leapt. It was leaning against a tree barely five metres from her. A stroke of luck. But, to acquire it would mean coming out into the open at least two metres, risking her discovery. She couldn't get both in one trip. And she didn't want to risk having to carry one while trying to get the other.

Keeping her eyes on the backs of the three men, Snow stole away into the darkness and back to Emma. Once again, she pulled them together to whisper in Emma's ear.

"There's a blanket and a bow that I think we can get. We'll go wide around the camp to get behind it. There are two trees that we can conceal ourselves behind. You take the tree on the right and I'll take the one on the left. The blanket will be closest to you. All you have to do is lean out and you should be able to reach it from your position. Ok?"

She waited for the answering nod.

* * *

Emma tried not to breathe. Even blinking felt like it would be too loud.

She heard the dull thud of clinking wooden mugs and the clearing of throats. But, she kept her eyes on Mary Margaret, squatting behind the tree on the other side. She watched as her mother peered out, turned toward her and nodded.

The coast was as clear as she could ever hope it to be.

Emma inched forward until her nose was no longer hidden by the tree. Turning her head minutely, she moved forward again, feeling the rough bark scrape along her skin. She opened her mouth to breathe shallowly, hoping her clouded breath wasn't visible to the men beyond her sight. She narrowed her eyes as the tension caused them to water in the cold night air.

She braced herself for a sudden shout or cry, which would mean her discovery.

Inch by inch, she bent her legs and lowered herself into a crouch. She could feel the warmth of the fire even at a distance and it felt like heaven on her cold skin, on her wet clothes. She raised her hand and placed it against the tree, balancing herself. Now, all she had to do was reach forward and grasp the blanket.

She adjusted herself until she was kneeling on the ground in the best position to move forward. On all fours, she lifted one arm and began an agonisingly slow process of leaning in. As soon as her head was no longer hidden behind the tree, she turned toward the fire to see if she'd been caught. She exhaled in relief as she saw three men still with their backs to her. Her eyes spotted the blanket immediately and her hand inched ever closer, finally brushing against it. She tried to control her nerves when one of the men let out a loud bark of laughter.

Her hand grasped the blanket. She could feel it shaking as she started pulling back. When the blanket began to slide toward her, she reached forward with her other hand and gathered it in, all the while keeping one eye on the group close by. She lifted herself off her knees and, holding the blanket in both hands, withdrew to the relative safety of the tree. She lifted her arms and clutched the blanket to her chest in desperate relief.

But, it wasn't over. That wasn't even the hard part. The brief second of reprieve was over as she opened her eyes and turned toward Mary Margaret, who had already started moving forward. Emma watched as Mary Margaret stepped out from behind the tree.

Totally exposed.

She took one step.

And another.

A pause. A glance toward the threesome, still unaware of what was taking place at their backs.

Another step.

Mary Margaret's shadow was now so close behind the threesome that one of the men only had to turn his head to the right angle and he would see it. Emma watched, her heart in her mouth, as her mother bent down and took hold of the weapon, lifting it agonisingly slowly so as not to accidently brush it against something. Her other hand picked up the quiver. Emma was near enough to see Mary Margaret close her eyes briefly and bite her lip, clenching her teeth as she lifted one foot and pushed it back. She repeated the action until she felt safe enough to turn her head to see where her feet were actually steeping back _to_.

Emma finally released the breath she'd been holding when Mary Margaret was safely behind the tree again. They stood opposite each other, holding their ill-gotten goods tightly. Emma watched as her mother nodded her approval briefly and smiled crookedly. She twisted her neck to look out at the dark forest beyond, then turned back to Emma. Pointing first out, then around, she indicated the path she wanted them to take. Emma nodded her assent and with a last hard press of her hand to the bark of the tree, she slowly made her way toward safety.

They vanished into the night like spectres.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Sorry if you were pulled back here thinking I had updated twice in 24 hours. I'm not that good. Something glaringly obvious was pointed out to me and my anal retentiveness wouldn't let it lie. So, thank you BelovedMaeve. Obviously I couldn't see the forest for the firewood, uh, trees ;)**

**A/N Thanks for your support of this story. I was just checking out where all my readers come from and it was really cool to see random nationalities that I wouldn't have expected. So, let me start by saying hi to all you people from Finland! I think I'll give a shout out to a different nationality with every chapter. I hope I don't run out of chapters before I run out of nationalities...Better make this story longer (that was for you, Roonie).**

Chapter 4

It was useless.

Utterly useless.

Trying to sleep in the bone-chilling cold with nothing but a blanket. And not a terribly thick one at that.

Still, Snow tried to tell herself, it was better than the alternative. They were still free. They were still together. There had been no sign of the warrior since they had escaped to the river. It looked like the water had indeed prevented the dogs from picking up their trail. And the men at the campsite from which they had acquired their blanket and bow had seemed none the wiser that she and Emma had been there at all. They were riding their luck close to the edge. Snow just hoped it would continue to hold.

She had pushed the two of them on by the light of the moon, wanting as much distance between them and danger as possible. She might have urged them doggedly forward all night, but the moon had finally chosen the small hours in which to take refuge behind the clouds, rendering all useful light extinguished. They had no means to light a torch, though Snow wouldn't have chanced it anyway. With almost complete darkness, there had been little they could do. The only option had been to find a suitable place to sleep for a few hours.

Which left them here, in an uncomfortable thicket hidden from view, leaning against a tree, clutching a blanket and relying on each other for warmth.

Unable to sleep, Snow wracked her brain for their next move. Now that she had a bow, she could at least catch something for them to eat. They'd think about cooking it when the time came. Then, they needed to get out of this forest. The lack of open ground meant there was frustratingly little chance of seeing what kind of landscape lay beyond the trees. If she could just catch a glimpse of a uniquely shaped mountain, or a lake which reflected the light in a particular way, it might give her some small sense of where they were.

And after that?

Snow held out little hope that they would just happen to run into a friend from her old life. The thought made her feel a little hopeless, that they might just have to try and make it back to Storybrooke alone. And Snow was willing to bet they needed magic to do it. At the very least, they needed a portal. A portal would allow them the means to jump between worlds.

There was only one problem with that.

Making such a jump would be a leap into a random void without a compass. A portal was all very well and good, but with no sense of direction, they might end up...anywhere. The Enchanted Forest was dangerous enough right now, but other places could hold something worse.

Other lands which had no magic.

Neverland.

Anywhere.

Snow snuck a hand out from under the blanket and rubbed her forehead. She could almost laugh at the incredulity of it, had the whole situation not been so dire. Where were they going to get magic? She thought back to what they had done before. When they had known Regina was going to enact something horrible.

The Blue Fairy had long been their ally. And the dwarves had been her faithful friends.

And Geppetto...

Geppetto...who had carved the magical wardrobe. It couldn't possibly still be there, could it? Could it? The curse had only just broken. People everywhere must surely still be trying to get their bearings, still be figuring out what was going on.

The wardrobe might still be in Emma's nursery. Just where they'd left it.

The thought of Emma's nursery made Snow's chest heavy with regret. There were moments when she could barely fathom that the child she had excitedly created a nursery for, the child she had felt growing inside her, the girl she had dreamed of raising, was now the woman who sat beside her. In the few moments she'd had to herself, she had conditioned herself not to go there. She had tried to close off her mind to these thoughts because if she let it meander into the past, her thoughts might crush her.

That the child David's mother had died for was lost.

That their family had been scattered to the winds.

That her dreams had died there on the ground that day as she'd held David, with Regina standing triumphantly over them.

Snow bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. How could she ever explain it to Emma? To show what was in her heart so that Emma would know, _really know_, just what they'd done. That for her, and for David, at the moment they'd decided to place Emma in the wardrobe alone, there had only been the dream of 'someday?' That they'd had to hold onto the hope of True Love, of a happily ever after for their family?

Snow opened her eyes again and shook her head slightly. She looked forward to a day when they had all the time in the world to talk about everything, to understand each other. To be together as a family.

But, not yet. For now, Snow had to be happy that, after everything, her daughter was beside her. It had to be enough.

Snow shifted slightly and turned her head in Emma's direction.

"Are you awake?" she asked quietly. There was a long pause.

"Yeah," came the weary reply. "Who can sleep sitting up anyway?" Snow felt Emma turn toward her and sigh. "It's freezing out here," Emma continued, pulling the blanket up higher.

"I know," Snow conceded. "I'm sorry. We can't chance a fire, even if we had the means to make one."

She felt Emma shrug.

"I can hardly blame you. You're the reason we got away at all."

Snow detected a tone of bitterness at the admission. She smiled sympathetically.

"Well, this did used to be my home. I lived here for a long time. So, it's ok for you to be a little..."

"I'm fine," Emma said sharply. She pulled her arms, which were crossed over her chest, a little tighter against her body. There was another long silence. "Is that why you came through that portal? Because you thought I wouldn't be able to handle it? That I'd be helpless?"

Snow let out a slow breath. She could, at least, share this part of her heart.

"I came through the portal to be with you," she said simply.

Emma didn't answer and continued holding herself tightly.

Snow sighed inwardly and closed her mouth. She stared up into the darkness, practically feeling the tension roll off Emma in waves. Finally, she felt her daughter let out a breath.

"I'm sorry," Emma muttered. "I'm just cold and tired."

Snow nodded, knowing Emma couldn't see it.

"Try and get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning."

_I hope._

* * *

Snow's eyes snapped open and she sat there for long moments, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim dawn light. It was still cold, almost frosty, though she had long grown used to that. The slightest movement caused her body to protest.

She had managed to lull herself to sleep after long hours of sitting, wide awake, calculating every possibility and eventuality she could think of. She had left no stone unturned in the quest for a way home for herself and Emma. And it was only after she had completely exhausted herself that she came to a final conclusion.

Their choices were limited.

But, it had left her even more determined. They had been through worse. Much worse. When David had been imprisoned and Regina had given her the ultimatum, she had ended up under a sleeping curse. It had looked pretty hopeless then. It had looked pretty grim, too, when Red realised that in fact it was she who was the vicious wolf terrorising the forest and they had gone on the run together. And it had looked downright dark when she had seen the empty wardrobe behind David's prone figure as he bled from a sword wound.

They had definitely been through worse.

Snow felt Emma move uncomfortably against the trunk of the tree they were leaning against. Snow turned her head and watched as her daughter opened her eyes, blinking slowly and wincing, before casting her gaze upwards to the sky, which was a gloomy still-dark grey. Her gaze seemed blank, glassy, as if she'd be quite happy to sit there and let the enemy come.

In fact, it was rather reminiscent of how Snow herself had felt, off and on, throughout the night.

"Morning," she said quietly, wondering what kind of mood she would be greeted with.

Emma turned and met her eyes, the beginnings of a crooked smile ghosting across her face.

"Is it?" she said, a little hoarsely, but with a hint of humour. Her almost-smile quickly turned into a grimace as she slowly leaned forward and got up onto one knee, placing one hand on the ground. "Worst camping trip ever," she mumbled, rubbing the small of her back with the other hand and letting her head fall forward, masking her face with her long blonde hair. She chuckled mirthlessly, before looking up at Snow. "What's the plan for today?"

Snow stood awkwardly and stretched, placing her hands behind her neck and moving her head from side to side.

"Get some distance between us and this forest," she replied. She glanced around thoughtfully. "Find something edible. Get some answers."

Emma raised her eyebrows and nodded.

"I'm guessing there's no Starbucks handy?" she said, a feeble attempt at humour.

Snow was thankful for it anyway.

"We'll have to settle for water," she said ruefully. "I'm hoping I can catch something with this bow though." She gestured to the weapon lying on the ground at her feet. And if we're really lucky," she continued, "we'll find a village where we can exchange some of the meat for a little flint. Maybe."

Emma just looked at her for a few moments.

"What were you going to say last night?" she finally asked.

Snow frowned questioningly, waiting for her daughter to continue.

Emma prompted with her hand.

"You were going to say it was ok for me to be a little..." She made a face. "And then I got bitchy." She cast her eyes up to meet Snow's again. "What were you going to say?"

Snow braced herself against a tree and chewed her lip.

"I guess I was going to say it's ok for you to be a little... freaked out," she replied slowly.

After what seemed like eons, the half-smile came back to Emma's face.

"Well, as long as it's ok..." She broke eye-contact and turned away.

It was as much of an admission that Snow knew she was likely to get right now.

Emma pushed aside the branches closest to her and moved clumsily out of the bushes towards the path, fighting the undergrowth with every step. Eventually, she burst out of their hiding place, taking a few lurching steps. She shook herself from head to toe, brushing off her arms, her butt, her front, pulling bits of twig and leaf from her hair.

Snow followed her out of their temporary home, still trying to work the kinks out of her back.

And then she stopped a couple of metres from Emma, frowning.

Her keen eyes picked up a disturbance around the area near where they had been sleeping. It was impossible to tell if it had been there last night or if it had happened earlier. They would never have seen it in the pitch black. Nor would they have missed hearing something. But, there was _something _off. Snow tried to pinpoint what it was. Something about the angle that some of the branches on some of the smaller trees were leaning. They were bent almost to the point of breaking, as if something-or some_one_-had been handling them, pushing them down roughly. Leaves were snapped off branches that were not directly on the path and they were too high to be the work of most of the animals that lived in the forest. To the untrained eye, it would seem like nothing, would have been unnoticed. She narrowed her eyes as she continued inspecting the area. They darted back and forth.

And then Snow spotted it.

Her eyes widened.

The thin rope almost camouflaged by the surrounding bushes. The rope attached to…

"Emma!" she called out in alarm, already realising she was too late. "Stop! Right now!"

But, Emma was already walking forward.

And then, suddenly, she was airborne.

* * *

Emma felt the breath suddenly leave her lungs and her legs be completely swept out from under her. It was like falling in reverse. Suddenly, she was looking up at the sky, her back slamming into the ground and then she was being dragged along the ground, before flying upwards to the high branches of the trees. And then, with a final jolt, she was bouncing in mid-air, hanging from one leg, the other flailing awkwardly, causing her to spin slowly.

The forest had gone silent. Or maybe her ears were blocked. She dangled, unable to process the shock.

After a brief period of ringing, the hearing returned to her ears and the breath to her lungs and she gasped, her eyes struggling to take in the fact that she was now looking at the ground from above. Her hair hung in her face and she reached up with a still-shaking hand to pull it away, holding it as she peered down.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret was shouting.

With her unencumbered hand, Emma raised the other to wave it down at her mother, not entirely sure what she was trying to communicate. That she was ok? That she still had all her faculties? That she was up a tree with her foot caught in a…

She'd seen it in the movies.

A trap.

She was caught in a trap. What all the animals of the forest had managed to avoid thus far, she had stumbled into.

Letting go of her hair, Emma grunted as she attempted to do a situp in mid-air. The veins in her forehead stood out at the exertion. After several tries, she managed to grab hold of her right ankle, feeling the rope that had caught her. She hung in that position for a moment, panting, eyes closed. After gathering herself, she pulled back the bottom of her jeans slightly and looked carefully at the knot in the rope, all the while turning in a slow circle. It looked small, but complicated and her body weight had pulled it even tighter. As she began picking at it, Emma was acutely aware of how tired her body was becoming in this position, her muscles straining and her legs and arms shaking from the effort. She pulled at the knot urgently, her breath coming out of her more and more raggedly, until she couldn't hold on anymore and let herself fall, the rope causing her body to sway lazily back and forth.

"Emma!"

She realised she hadn't actually replied to Mary Margaret's concerned cries.

"I'm ok," she called out weakly. "The knot in the rope is a little hard to get at."

After a few deep breaths, Emma attempted another situp, this one a lot slower than the first one. She felt her abdomen straining, but she ignored the protestations of her body and focused on the knot again. This time, she was only able to work at the knot for a few seconds before she dropped backwards again. She swung, breathing hard, back and forth. So much for her knot-picking abilities. It was impossible. The knot was simply too tight.

She stared up past her feet to the thick branch from which the rope was hanging. There seemed to be some intricate rope-pulley system, completely knotted. It was at least ten feet long. Maybe if she rested her arms for awhile, she could slither herself up to the branch of the tree and…? What? Then she'd be up even higher than she was now, stuck up a tree with no way down except the drop. There were no branches underneath that she could use to climb down.

"Emma? Emma, I'm going to try something."

Emma looked down to where Mary Margaret was walking underneath and into the trees beyond.

"Uh…what are you doing?" Emma called down, feeling her stomach clench in fear.

"I'm going to find where this thing's attached and try and let you down," Mary Margaret replied, her voice muffled by the bushes.

Emma waited in silence. After a minute or two, she felt the rope move slightly and she tensed, readying herself to be lowered. The rope continued twisting and tugging gently for a few minutes. When nothing further happened after minutes of anxious waiting, she called out.

"Mary Margaret?"

Mary Margaret called out something she couldn't hear properly. Emma waited another long while, before calling out again.

"Mary Margaret?"

Mary Margaret emerged from the bushes, her face red from frustration and exertion, flexing her fingers. She stared up and Emma felt a stab of unease.

"What is it?" she asked.

Mary Margaret shook her head.

"Whoever rigged that up made it impossible to undo by hand," she said, concern etching her face. "I can't undo it."

Emma, her head aching from hanging upside down, closed her eyes momentarily.

"What are we going to do?"

Mary Margaret cast her eyes down to the bow and arrow lying on the ground where she had been standing. She walked over to the weapon and picked it up. Craning her neck up again, she stared at the rope above Emma's head.

"I could try and shoot through the rope and cut you down," Mary Margaret finally replied, notching the arrow into the bow.

Emma barked a laugh.

"Are you crazy?" she called out. "Even if you could hit it, I'm going down hard!"

Mary Margaret looked up at her resolutely.

"Emma, whoever did this planned it well. Those trees have no low-lying branches, so I can't climb up and you can't climb down. Whatever knot they used, you won't be able to undo it. The only way down is _down."_ She used her head to demonstrate the drop. "And we can't wait around. Someone will eventually be coming to check on this trap and I'd rather not be here when they do. It's not too far. Just pull yourself up first so at least you won't fall headfirst."

Emma followed her mother's direction, still shaking her head and huffing incredulous laughter.

"Yeah, because falling feet-first is going to be such fun!" But, the truth was that her mother was right. So, she clung desperately to the rope and peeked down as Mary Margaret aimed at the rope above her. "Are you sure about this?" She hated the way her voice quavered.

Mary Margaret locked eyes with her and Emma noticed the way they shone with a fierceness she had never seen before.

"I'm sure, Emma," was her quiet reply.

Emma nodded and looked up at the rope. She didn't hear the release of the arrow, only the brief whistle as it flew through the air and then she was jerking madly back and forth, the arrow having nicked the rope, but not cut through fully. She was shocked that Mary Margaret's aim had been so true.

She looked down again to see her mother notching another arrow into the bow. She was actually going to do it. Suddenly, Emma was certain. Her mother was going to save her.

Until she saw movement from the corner of her eye. She moved her head towards it at the same time as Mary Margaret turned around. At seeing what was before her, Mary Margaret gripped the bow tighter and widened her stance a little.

"Well, well, well," came a gruff voice. Emma saw a man step out into the clearing.

_Great. _

The man swaggered forward, glancing from Mary Margaret to Emma and back again.

"Having some trouble?" he asked with a sneer. "I'm pretty good at untying a knot. Or tying one."

Emma hung helplessly, staring down at Mary Margaret. She watched as the woman raised her bow and pointed it directly at the man.

"Be on your way and I'll have no reason to harm you," she said firmly.

The man guffawed, leaning back from the strength of his laugh. He raised two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. After a few seconds, two more men appeared. He inclined his head and the two walked forward, around Snow and disappeared into the trees.

Emma craned her neck to see what they were doing. She didn't have to wait long before the rope suddenly jolted downward. She felt herself being lowered, jerk by shuddering jerk, down to the ground.

It seemed to take but a few moments before she was standing on shaking legs next to her mother, who had moved to stand beside her, gripping her arm as hard as she had been gripping the bow.

One of their captors stepped forward.

"You'll do nicely," he said with a nasty grin.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This is the chapter where this story goes somewhere different from where you might have thought…**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 5

_Head-butt or full-frontal assault? _Emma wondered, as she felt Mary Margaret's fingers dig into her arm painfully. Both options seemed equally feasible at this point, if feasible meant spectacularly unrealistic. It was made even more difficult when Mary Margaret stepped forward and moved slightly in front of her, stretching her arm out and across Emma. The fact that she was a slender, pixie-haired, pink-cardiganed woman who looked as though she wouldn't hurt a fly was probably quite amusing to the three huge men in front of them.

Emma, staring out from behind her mother, wasn't sure if she was annoyed at being treated like a helpless child or moved that someone was trying to protect her for the first time in...forever.

The trouble lay in the fact that they were only two, carrying one weapon and the men numbered three, each carrying their own weapons. Even if her mother could whip up her bow and take one of them down, they would still have two to contend with. Emma had _very_ recently learned of Mary Margaret's skill with a bow, but she seriously doubted whether the woman could break the speed of sound as well.

It would all be over very quickly.

Her surmising proved correct when one of the men, a burly, hairy man, reached forward and plucked the bow from Mary Margaret's hand, snapping it in two as if it weighed no more than a feather and casting it aside on the ground. Emma wondered if she deliberately hadn't done anything to stop him.

"You'll need a better one than that where you're going," he chuckled.

Emma briefly wondered what he meant by that. Where were they being taken that they would need a bow? More to the point, why would they let them have one at all? She didn't really have a chance to dwell on these questions before she and Mary Margaret found themselves in a very familiar position.

Bound and being led along to an unknown destination. Though they weren't joined to a horse this time, but to each other. From their wrists ran a length of rope, long enough for them to walk facing forward, but not long enough to venture too far from each other without the rope being pulled taut, its limit reached. And this time felt different for another reason. To Emma, it felt as if they were travelling with more of a purpose. She caught snatches of the men's hushed conversations and mentally filed away phrases like "in a couple of days" and "everyone we need" and "he'll be pleased." Just what was happening in a couple of days, who 'everyone' was and, more particularly, who _he_ was, remained unclear.

The morning had warmed considerably. Emma noticed her clothes were all but dry, a fact that cheered her a lot more than she expected. She supposed when one's standards had dropped to mere survival, having dry clothes was indeed something to celebrate. They had finally cleared the forest and were being led down a wide dirt road, which cut between what looked like fields of corn or wheat or something. Emma hadn't spent enough time in the countryside to really know. The road kept bending this way and that, so when she turned to look back it was impossible to know how far they'd come and when she squinted into the distance, equally difficult to predict where they were going. She spent the miles they covered taking in the landscape, moving quickly enough to avoid a shove from behind and occasionally catching Mary Margaret's eye to communicate...something. A look was supposed to say so much, but Emma was sure the looks Mary Margaret was getting from her were more like blank stares that screamed, "what the hell is going on?"

The looks Mary Margaret was giving her spoke something else. While her back was straight and strong and her eyes glared at the men, when she looked at Emma, they seemed to soften and she looked like the only thing she really wanted to do right then was reach forward and hold Emma upright.

The question of where they were going was, in part, answered a little while later. As they rounded yet another bend, Emma spotted a wagon sitting under a tree. As they drew closer, she saw that it was big enough and heavy enough to require four horses to pull it. And as they came closer still, she saw the shapes of other people sitting in the back. She sent another glance, laden with trepidation, in Mary Margaret's direction.

The driver of the wagon jumped down from his seat and sauntered over to their group. He cast a critical eye over Emma and Mary Margaret and nodded slowly.

"They'll do," he drawled, leering at them.

One of their captors pulled Emma and Mary Margaret away from the little conference and over to the wagon. They stopped behind it and he reached forward with his knife and cut their bonds. He nodded toward the wagon with his head, as they shook off the phantom weight of the rope and rubbed their wrists.

"In. No funny stuff." He flashed the knife at them. He was standing slightly closer to Emma and reached out to grab her, taking her elbow in a tight grasp to manhandle her into the back. Mary Margaret stepped forward immediately and pulled Emma's arm from his hold.

"We're going," she replied firmly, holding his gaze and daring him with her eyes to touch Emma again. He shook his head slightly and smirked, stepping back and watching as Mary Margaret took hold of the back of the wagon and hauled herself up. She turned and reached down, helping Emma into the back. Spotting a pocket of space toward the front, Mary Margaret led Emma toward it and they slid down to sit on the floor. The man rounded the wagon and pulled himself up to the passenger seat.

The wagon was full.

Emma allowed her eyes to drift over the other occupants. Wretched and pitiful, they sat quietly, neither speaking nor making eye contact. Emma quickly guessed that any attempt to communicate would result in a belting. She wondered what they were all doing here. There were older and younger as well as male and female. Almost everyone except for herself and Mary Margaret was dressed in fairly shabby clothes, though Emma noticed with a quick look that their clothes were quickly taking on a similar appearance. It was just as well, too, since they would do better to blend in with the others than stand out in any obvious way.

She hoped their clothes didn't look too 'other-worldly.'

The conference between their captors was brought to an end a little while later and the driver returned to his seat. With a jolt, the wagon began moving forward slowly and Emma looked out the back to where two of their captors had already turned and started walking back the way they had come. The wagon jerked back and forth and the miserable company inside jerked with it. It was impossible to see where they were headed, no matter how much Emma craned her neck to see.

As she turned back and settled down with a sigh, Mary Margaret pressed against her. Emma looked over at her questioningly and her mother's eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips curved minutely upward.

Emma wondered why all the reassurance she needed was suddenly in that look. And how inexplicably relieved she was that Mary Margaret was sitting next to her there in the dusty wagon, as it shuddered and rolled toward their new destination.

She broke eye contact and looked away, embarrassed, as she felt the sudden burning of moisture in her eyes. But, she didn't stop herself from using her shoulder to press back, allowing the pressure to ground her, remind her that she wasn't doing this alone.

The relief was short-lived, however, as the miles rolled on. The fields of crops gave way to more rocky ground and giant mountains towered in the distance. The constant rollicking was exhausting.

And then the forest returned.

Further and further they travelled. One hour. Two. Three. And to Emma, it was beginning to look like the warrior had been the least of their problems.

* * *

Snow stared sightlessly at the endless countryside. Her butt was fast going numb. Her back ached. She felt wearier than she had in years and she wanted to let her head drop back against the side of the wagon and her eyes close so that the motion of the transport could lull her to sleep.

But, she didn't dare move a muscle.

She let her eyes drop down to look at the blonde head under her chin, resting on her shoulder. She had sensed Emma fighting it. Fighting off the exhaustion that threatened to swallow her whole. Fighting the urge to find a comfortable place to lay her head down. She'd succeeded for a long while, too. Snow had watched Emma distract herself by studying their travelling companions, studying the clouds as they floated across the sky, studying the changing panorama. Until her eyelids were so heavy, they might as well have been closed.

And then, without warning, she had pressed herself against Snow, tilted her head to the side and let it fall onto Snow's shoulder. Snow figured her daughter had simply resigned herself. She closed her own eyes and felt the heavy warmth of Emma's body jostle against her with the continuing motion of the wagon. For now, for this moment, her daughter was letting herself need her.

It felt like the only good thing to have happened since leaving Storybrooke behind.

Snow hoped whatever lay ahead would be kind to them. And as she opened her eyes and continued to stare out at the scenery, she felt her body begin to tense. Over the past few miles, more and more houses could be spotted as they rolled by. And they began to pass others on the road. Others, who deliberately pulled their own transport to the side to let them pass. Others, who Snow noticed giving them sympathetic glances as if they knew where they were headed. She was sure she had seen one man shake his head and mutter "poor bastards!" to his companion.

What did they know that she didn't?

Still, the wagon churned onward, its large wheels thundering and consuming the miles.

And then, finally, Snow saw it. The end of their road.

A giant camp. Fortified, judging by the occasional group of soldiers they passed. Walled with logs at least thirty feet high. Guarded with giant watchtowers.

Reluctantly, Snow gently nudged Emma.

"Emma? Wake up. I think we're here."

She felt Emma stir against her, turning her cheek into Snow's shoulder and sighing deeply. Snow felt the loss as soon as Emma lifted her head and sat up, blinking blearily in the bright sunshine.

"Where are we?" Emma asked quietly, her eyes quickly taking in their surrounds.

"It's a camp," Snow replied. "Looks permanent, judging by the stone buildings and the watchtowers. It probably has a prison and my guess is that's where we'll be going."

She watched as Emma swallowed hard, staring up as the walls grew larger the closer they got. Giant gates were opened and the wagon rumbled through. Snow and Emma gazed up at the tall gates, their faces falling into its shadow, before the wagon entered a large open space and pulled to a stop.

They were here.

Wherever _here_ was.

The one captor who had remained with them jumped down from his seat with a heavy thud. He stretched his arms out wide and moved his torso this way and that, groaning as his muscles loosened after the long journey. After all sorts of pops and cracks, he appeared satisfied and strode to the back of the wagon.

"Out!" he ordered.

For a moment, nobody moved.

The man shook his head in exasperation, his face darkening.

"If you're waiting for an escort, we'll be here all day. Out!"

The people at the front began scrambling to their feet and the man grabbed at the nearest two, dragging them off with such strength, they stumbled and fell to the ground. After that, everyone moved much faster, leaping off the wagon and huddling together in a group nearby.

Snow and Emma were the last to jump off and they, too, moved to join the group. The man gestured impatiently with his hand.

"Line up!"

The ragtag group unevenly spread themselves out into a somewhat straight line. Snow pushed between a few people to keep Emma close.

"Walk!" came the man's next monosyllabic order.

They turned to their left and made their way to a heavy wooden door. Snow glanced up at the sky, wondering with a sense of foreboding when they would see daylight again. If there was one thing she remembered about living in this realm, it was that cruelty took on a different form here. Fall into the wrong hands and the term 'human rights' no longer seemed to apply. Compassion and mercy were meaningless words to those who locked up prisoners for months, even years without ever letting them back into the sun. Storybrooke felt a million miles away.

She followed Emma through the doorway.

They entered a long, dark passageway and descended a set of stairs. The light seemed to vanish almost as soon as they stepped inside and Snow trod carefully, lest she trip and injure herself in the darkness. The air grew dank and close the further down they went. The line of people in front and behind was silent apart from the scuffing of shoes on the cobbled ground and an occasional cough. The passage narrowed and veered right, taking them down and down.

Eventually, the passage came to an end and they walked through another doorway and into what looked like a prison. Cells with closed doors, a small opening about three quarters of the way up, but covered with bars. This stretched down as far as Snow could see and she wondered how many of them were occupied. She watched as the lead guard began opening doors and sending people in two at a time. A quick count and Snow realised that if this continued, she and Emma would be separated into different rooms. She shook her head slightly and reached forward, grabbing Emma's hand. She felt her flinch in surprise and turn questioningly, her face pale and tense in the dim light. Snow signalled with her head and as the procession continued, she pulled them out of the line as inconspicuously as possible and slipped back in a little further back. Counting again quickly, she was satisfied that she and Emma would be kept together.

A few more minutes and their turn came. The guard opened the next door and nodded towards the cell, but not before giving Emma a once over, lip curling in a sneer. Snow glared at him as she moved past him into the cell.

It stank.

As the door banged shut behind them, Snow moved forward and stood next to Emma, who was staring up and around, her expression unreadable. She spoke quietly.

"Makes Phoenix look like The Hilton," she said softly.

Snow took in their new surroundings. It was larger than she'd expected. A large hole in one corner no doubt served as a toilet, judging by the fact that it seemed to be the source of the smell. Two piles of straw lay opposite each other against the walls, serving as beds. Two wooden bowls sat near the door, obviously ready for some kind of food.

She turned and walked back to the door, peering out through the small bars to the corridor outside. She squinted in the low light as a guard went by. The hard clink of metal from far away was interrupted by someone sobbing somewhere close. An icy chill swept up her spine.

And it was at that moment Snow realised anew how far from home they really were.

* * *

The mattress had been a little lumpy. And the springs in the bed had dug into her back, something she'd keenly felt the further into her pregnancy she'd gone. The walls had been stark white, with the occasional stain from who knew what. It had been best not to think about where the marks had come from.

Yes, prison in Phoenix had been far from ideal. That was the whole point of prison though, wasn't it? To deter people from crime.

But, this?

This wasn't just a deterrent. This wasn't just frightening.

This was a nightmare.

Emma struggled to keep her breathing under control. She didn't want to draw Mary Margaret's attention to the fact that she was probably as terrified as she had ever been in her life. And she'd lived through all kinds of crap. She'd been neglected in foster care. She'd been bullied at school. She'd dragged herself through days of low-paid, shitty jobs. She'd been dumped by the one guy she'd fallen in love with and left to endure a pregnancy in jail. She'd made the decision to give up her kid. There were plenty of reasons to be scared right there. Jail back in the real world had been bad. But, there had been an end point. There had been some semblance of certainty in the process, in the punishment. A light at the end of the tunnel, though at the time she couldn't see it.

But, this whirlwind, this tornado she was swept up in? Without Mary Margaret standing barely feet away, she might have let it eat her alive.

Emma slowly made her way to one of the 'beds' and sat down on the straw, shuffling to get into a more comfortable position. Looking around, she had no idea what to say. Distant sounds could be heard; a wail here, a bang there, a harsh voice. But, inside, it felt absolutely silent.

Until…

"Hello?" came a whisper, barely audible in the stifling atmosphere.

Emma and Mary Margaret looked at each other, then around at the walls of their cell. Where was the voice coming from?

"Hello?" it came again.

Emma looked down at a bottom corner of the cell, away from the door, and pointed. They walked quietly over to the corner and stared down at the small grille in the wall. While Emma turned her neck to check the door, Mary Margaret knelt down and put her face close to the grille.

"Hello?" she answered softly. "Who are you?"

A soft male voice spoke in reply.

"I was the man standing behind you. I am Paul. My daughter-in-law is here with me."

"I'm Sn-Mary Margaret. Are you ok?"

"Yes, we are. Where did you come from?"

Emma turned her head back to see Mary Margaret considering how best to answer. Right now, it would do no good to give anyone too much information.

"We were captured in the forest," she replied finally, glancing up at Emma with raised eyebrows.

There was a pause.

"Why did you pull out of the line back there?" Paul asked curiously. "You won't last long. Two women together never do. Better you had stayed where you were. The fellow in front of you looked fairly strong. You might have survived with him."

Emma raised her eyebrows at Mary Margaret. What were they talking about? Survived what?

Mary Margaret leaned forward again and spoke quietly into the opening.

"She's my…we're family. We stick together."

"Better one of you survives alone than both of you dying together."

At that moment, in that place, Emma wasn't sure she agreed with him at all.

"Who says we're dying?" Mary Margaret frowned.

There was silence from the other side for a moment.

"Two women have never won this. The odds aren't in your favour."

Mary Margaret shook her head, her frown deepening. She threw Emma a questioning look.

"Won what?" she asked impatiently.

"What do you mean 'what?' Don't you know why we're all here?" Paul asked incredulously. "The Competition!"

The sinking feeling in her gut told Emma the word 'competition' meant a lot more than it implied. She listened as Paul rapidly explained.

An annual competition.

A series of three challenges in teams of two. Two challenges completed individually on behalf of the team. The two teams who came last in each of the individual challenges were out and the remaining teams competed in the final challenge in which both members of the team worked together.

"The losing teams die," Paul concluded matter-of-factly. "Well, they 'disappear,' but everyone knows what that really means."

"And the team that wins?" Mary Margaret asked, meeting Emma's eye.

"You get to live," came the reply.

This time, the silence yawned like a gaping black hole all around them. Emma would almost have laughed if the blunt words Paul had spoken hadn't struck her dumb. She squatted down next to her mother, who had sat up and rocked backwards onto her heels, her face ashen. They stared wordlessly at each other, occasionally shaking their heads in disbelief. Of all the scenarios they had considered since escaping the warrior, they could never have conceived this.

It seemed to boil down to one thing.

Storybrooke was no longer their focus. No longer the reason they would plot and plan and daydream.

Now they faced an even grimmer reality. And two questions planted themselves in Emma's mind.

Who would organise such a horrific spectacle?

And how were they going to get out of it alive?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Hope you enjoy this next offering. Heads up-people who are dead in the show may not be dead at all….And original characters can be plucked from thin air….**

**A/N2 Please excuse my utter ignorance in the last chapter of where Emma did her time…I went back and changed it. Thanks to those who pointed it out. And please tell me of any future inaccuracies. I'm a bit flaky lately!**

**A/N Random nationality shout-out: hi to everyone from France and the Netherlands!**

Chapter 6

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

There was no toilet, save the hole in the corner of their cell. She'd held out as long as she could from using it, but eventually there had been no option. This was some strange medieval world, so there was no sink and therefore no taps. No running water.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

So, where was that incessant dripping coming from? It hadn't rained since they'd arrived and she hadn't heard anyone washing anything. It might have been easier to ignore if the dripping had some kind of pulse. Some measure of steady rhythm that would lull her into a stupor that would eventually lead to sleep. But, the gentle patter of water on stone was erratic at best. Unpredictable. Irritating.

Emma stared up at the ceiling, her eyes drifting over the dark shadows casting themselves ominously across the stone. There was a window up high, which had only been reachable by Mary Margaret standing on her clasped hands and being lifted up so that she could grab the bars to balance herself enough to look out. Not that there had been much to see. The window was level with the ground above, which had surprised them, given the downward gradient of the corridors they had taken to get here. Mary Margaret had reported nothing but a large, empty open space.

Right now, there was nothing but the moonlight coming in from between those bars. Restless, Emma turned her head towards her mother, who was facing the wall and appeared to be asleep. There had been little conversation since they had talked to Paul and that had been hours ago. After he had told them what they were all there for, there hadn't been much to say and he had eventually gone silent, returning to his daughter-in-law, whoever she was.

Emma had asked Mary Margaret if she had ever heard of this 'competition.' Her mother had simply shaken her head wordlessly.

"_The curse must have darkened more than one heart,"_ had been her reply. _"For men to stoop to such levels."_

They had speculated on the kind of challenges Paul had said they must undertake. All sorts of scenarios had been put forward, both benign and violent, with weapons and without. But, throughout the conversation, Mary Margaret had remained suspicious.

"_If this is supposed to be some kind of grand spectacle, wouldn't there have been more travellers on the street as we arrived? Does not a show require an audience? "_

Emma had shrugged.

"_Maybe this Randolph guy prefers a private show."_

Mary Margaret's lip had again curled in disgust at the name. When Paul had given them all the information he knew, which hadn't been much, there had still been one big question yet to be answered.

Who was orchestrating this exhibition?

"_Lord Randolph," _had been Paul's answer.

Emma had raised her eyebrows at Mary Margaret's sharp intake of breath and, despite the horror on her mother's face, Emma's first reaction had been relief.

Finally, something her mother recognised. Something familiar, a fragment of that other life. A connection to something from before.

"_Who's Randolph?" _she had asked.

Mary Margaret had put a hand to her forehead, rubbing it hard.

"_King George's cousin."_

Emma had wished for Henry's book at that moment, feeling sure she was supposed to know who King George was. Upon finding out it was that jerk, Albert Spencer, she had come to a certain understanding about her mother's reaction to his cousin. George, her mother had explained, had made deals with Rumplestiltskin, teamed up with the Evil Queen and even tried to render her infertile. Apparently, dastardliness and ruthlessness ran in the family, for Randolph was thought to be just as brutal and merciless as his cousin.

"_Will he recognise you if he sees you?" _Emma had asked worriedly, suddenly thinking of all kinds of scenarios which involved Mary Margaret being identified and dragged forcibly away. The thought had not occurred to Emma yet in this place. The two of them had fallen into the portal together, been captured together, dragged around the countryside. Together. But, what if someone did, in fact, recognise her as Snow White? What if someone here still wanted revenge on her? An old ally of Regina's...somebody? What if they took Mary Margaret and left Emma behind?

Emma couldn't deny the way her chest seemed to tighten at the thought. it was a thought too dark to dwell on.

"_Only if he saw my face on the wanted posters," _Mary Margaret had reassured her._ "We never met face to face. I only knew him by reputation. My involvement was purely with George..."_

A clang brought Emma back to the present. She heard Mary Margaret roll over and resettle with a quiet sigh. Emma stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her thoughts tumbling through her head until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

They snapped back open what felt like only minutes later. The door to the cell rattled and the lock clinked as a heavy key was thrust into it. Emma scrambled to her feet, brushing her hair out of her face, glancing over to see Mary Margaret standing up quickly. The door opened and a guard beckoned roughly from the doorway.

"Move it!" he barked and the two of them filed past wordlessly. They joined the line they had formed yesterday, exchanging a quick glance and nod with the man they knew as Paul, who was now in front of them. Within moments, they were being directed back the way they had come the previous day, this time moving up, up, up toward the light of the outside world.

It was early enough to be a little chilly, but the sun was out and Emma was grateful to be outside, though they had only been below for one night. After the dank and stale air below, not to mention the stench from the hole in the floor of the cell, the fresh air was a nice change.

The group lined up in the courtyard as before and waited. Three guards stood with them, their hands on their scabbards, ready to unsheathe their swords should a foolish prisoner try an ill-advised escape attempt.

Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling uneasy as she stood next to Mary Margaret. She knew they were both dreading Lord Randolph's appearance as it brought with it the possibility of someone recognising that Snow White stood among them. It was true that, in reality, she could be recognised by anyone at any time, but somehow, it seemed Randolph would provide the true test.

They didn't have to wait long.

The large wooden gate was opened and two horsemen cantered through on their steeds. They came to a stop and dismounted, handing their reins to a pair of attendants, who led the horses away to be fed and rested. The men walked towards their group. The first was tall and thin, with piercing eyes and a severe expression. The resemblance to Spencer...King George...was clear.

Emma also assumed this was Lord Randolph from the medals which hung from his chest and the fact that he had taken the lead. Without looking at the other man, she turned her head to catch Mary Margaret's eye.

She watched her mother's expression change. Her eyes widened in recognition and her mouth opened slightly.

"Lancelot?" she whispered.

It took a moment for the name to register.

_Lancelot? Seriously?_

Emma followed her mother's line of sight and her eyes took in the strong, broad-shouldered man, dressed in full armour. This was the legendary knight of the round table? She watched as he strode towards Randolph and came to a stop beside him.

"This is it?" Randolph asked, seemingly displeased with what he saw.

Lancelot looked up and down the line. As his gaze passed over Emma and Mary Margaret, his eyes widened perceptibly and he allowed his gaze to linger for the briefest of moments. But, to his credit, he gave no other acknowledgement that he had recognised Mary Margaret and, after a moment, he had finished giving the group a once over.

"It would appear so, my Lord," Lancelot replied.

"Very well, then," Randolph took a step forward and addressed them.

"Welcome! You have been chosen to take part in this year's challenges," he began, his arm sweeping to take them all in. "Every year the winners are chosen from a group of competitors, so take a good look at those around you. They are your competition, your rivals, for the next three days." He walked slowly along those standing in line, pausing to glare at this one or that. "It will do you no good to make friends," he declared loudly, "Or to form any alliances among yourselves. There will be only _one_ winning team."

He paused for a moment to let this sink in. Nobody needed to be told twice. They had all heard what happened to those unfortunate souls who lost. "The person you are sharing your cell with will be the person you must rely on to get you through." Emma and Mary Margaret exchanged relieved glances. "You, no doubt, know by now that there are three challenges; two will be completed individually and one as a team. There will be no second chances. Should you give up on a challenge, you will be left to the wolves that roam the forest at night. Should you attack or kill any of your fellow competitors to gain an advantage, you will be disqualified and removed from the challenge."

Everyone had a good understanding of what the term 'removed' meant.

"Speed and skill is what will be required, not wanton slaughter," Randolph continued. "The first challenge, which will be completed tomorrow, will be a race for which you will need a variety of talents. There are ten teams and the two teams which finish last will be escorted from the course."

Emma mentally added the word 'escorted' to the growing list of Randolph's euphemisms.

"On the second day, in the second individual challenge, you will be asked to locate and bring out a precious object from inside a building. Though you will all receive credit for your items, there is only one object which is truly the correct choice." He looked along the line again. "The final challenge you will do in your team of two." His mouth curved into a mysterious and sinister smile. "The nature of this challenge will remain a mystery until it is undertaken on the third day." He began walking slowly up and down the line again. "Today, you will be examined to determine your ability to undertake these challenges. Anybody deemed unfit will not join us tomorrow."

_Will not join..._

He stopped and faced them head on. "Are there any questions?"

Nobody made a sound.

"Very well," Randolph nodded. "Until tomorrow then." With that, he turned and strode away.

After a moment, one of the guards began rounding them up again.

"That's it 'til tomorrow folks. Back we go!"

And just like that, they were herded back down to their cells under the ground.

* * *

Snow could barely register what she had seen out in the courtyard. She paced around the cell, fully aware that Emma was watching her, her expression showing clearly that she thought Snow was going off the deep end.

What had Lancelot been doing there? With Randolph! He might as well have joined up with King George again! She shook her head angrily and paced faster, grinding her teeth at the perceived betrayal.

"Hey," she heard Emma say. "Hey." She felt a hand on her arm, interrupting her furious pacing. Looking up, Snow caught Emma's worried expression. "I might not know anything about this place or the people who live here, but you're freaking me out. What's going on?"

Snow stood, shaking her head and staring at the ground. She clenched her jaw, before finally looking up at Emma.

She looked, really looked, at her daughter.

Her red-rimmed, tired eyes. Her tangled, greasy hair. The lines in her forehead that seemed to be fixed to her expression these days. And Snow let her mind take her back to that moment in the wagon. To the feeling of Emma's head on her shoulder. That moment of peace when all she'd needed was the weight of that beautiful blonde head resting against her, letting her take away the world for a time. Snow felt it ground her now. Her anger wasn't helping anything.

She owed Emma an explanation. Anything to take away Emma's worry.

"Lancelot was a noble knight and my...our friend." She sighed heavily. "Well, not at first. But, he saved us." She placed her hands on Emma's shoulders and smiled gently. "He helped save _you_, before we knew you even existed." At Emma's confused expression, she went on. "King George poisoned me. He wanted me to know the pain of never having a child." She clenched her jaw as she watched Emma's eyes widen. "But, Lancelot defied the king and came to our aid and helped us find a way to reverse it." Her eyes darkened. "Which is why I cannot understand why he would join with Randolph after everything!"

The door to their cell rattled and the lock clicked. The door opened and a guard stuck his head in.

"Health check," he grunted and disappeared.

Snow breathed deeply as she waited with Emma for whoever was to come and inspect them. Her eyes narrowed as Lancelot stepped through the doorway and into the cell. He reached behind himself and pulled the door shut, then pulled himself up to his full height and looked at them.

Snow felt the anger rise in her chest. She stood forward slowly, her lip curling with disdain.

"You have some nerve showing your face here," she spat, reaching forward and pulling Emma back beside her. "Some nerve." She glared at him and laughed humourlessly. "Come to explain yourself? To justify allying yourself with Randolph?" She took another step forward, her fists clenched.

Lancelot said nothing. His face was etched with a weariness that almost gave Snow pause for thought. And when she saw his eyes fill with tears, she took a step back, shocked.

"Snow," he whispered, his voice tight and tense. "Tell me it's really you."

Snow frowned, shooting a quick glance at Emma. What was going on?

"What are you doing?" she asked. "How can you be here with _him_? How can you condone this _competition_? From what I gather, it's nothing more than a few day's entertainment for that bastard up there."

Lancelot took a pace forward, his hands held up in supplication.

"Condone it? No, I would never." He swallowed. "Randolph found me a few years ago and recruited me to his army." It was his turn to laugh without mirth. "Well, not so much recruited as..." He shook his head. "A friend who was with me tried to refuse. We had planned to go north." His face turned stony at the memory. "He was killed in front of me for attempting to decline a place in Randolph's army."

Snow felt her heart both sink at her reckless mistake and soar at the knowledge that this was, indeed, her friend. She sighed deeply as Lancelot continued.

"I have tried where I can to help those unfortunate enough to be captured by his Lordship. I have worked my way into his confidence, while warning his enemies of his movements." He gestured to the walls of the cell. "I have tried to caution people when recruits are needed for this competition, give people a chance to get to safety." He closed his eyes briefly. "But, I cannot save everyone."

Snow felt her own eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Lancelot," she whispered. "For thinking that you would..." She strode forward and flung her arms around him, embracing him tightly. "I'm sorry."

He held her tightly for a brief moment, before pulling back and glancing at the door.

"My heart feels great joy that I should see you again after so long, yet it breaks for the situation in which you find yourself." He smiled sadly. "I must tell you what you are up against." He took another backward glance at the door. "I am supposed to be ensuring you are fit and healthy enough to take part."

Snow smiled back at him.

"I'm just glad to see you," she replied.

His smile warmed briefly, before he finally turned his gaze to Emma.

"Who is this?" he asked curiously.

Snow couldn't help the flutter of excitement as she pulled Emma forward. After the curse had broken in Storybrooke, everyone had already known of Emma's identity, despite the fact that they had never seen her as an adult. So many of them had been a part of the plan to send her to safety and had shared in the hopes and dreams she and Charming had had. But, Lancelot...he had no idea who Emma was. For the first time, Snow was able to introduce her daughter to someone. And Lancelot would finally be able to see just what he had done that day at Lake Nostos.

She reached down and took Emma's hand, squeezing it tightly. She was aware of Emma's discomfort and confusion, but this moment was too precious.

"Lancelot, this is Emma. My daughter."

Lancelot's eyes widened and he looked at Emma incredulously. His face transformed into an enormous smile and Snow felt her own heart clench with emotion.

"Your...daughter," he whispered, nodding in amazement. He swallowed hard. "You said...you told me it would be a girl. You told me." He chuckled quietly and met Snow's gaze. "This is truly wonderful," he said and reached forward to grip Snow's other hand.

Loud voices from outside the cell ruined the moment and Lancelot quickly dropped Snow's hand, looking uneasily behind himself.

"I have lingered too long already," he said urgently. He stared hard at both of them. "I must tell you, there is only one way you can win this competition."

Snow exchanged glances with Emma.

"How?" she asked quietly, leaning in.

"Snow." Lancelot lowered his voice further. He paused and glanced again at the door. He took a breath as he turned back and his gaze penetrated the woman in front of him. "Snow, do you have magic?"

With that one word, it felt as if the air had instantly been sucked out of the small space. Emma watched her mother carefully.

It was an unexpected question.

"No," Snow replied slowly. "No. We have no magic. I was going to look for some to help us get home, but we were captured...Why do you ask us this?"

Emma found it hard to tell if Lancelot was relieved or afraid. He licked his lips and stared intently at the two of them.

"This is Randolph's whole reason for this competition. It's under the guise of entertainment, but he's looking for something. Someone."

Snow frowned.

"He wants someone with magic? What for?" she asked.

Lancelot reached forward and gripped her shoulders.

"He's looking for a way to bring George back to this realm. He's looking for someone who can open a portal to the land cursed by the Queen. Someone ordinary, who won't be missed. But, someone with magic." He swallowed hard. "Every year, for the last five years, a winner of the competition is announced, but no one has ever truly won. The competitors disappear. The only way to win is to use magic and since nobody has had any, they have all died at the last obstacle. Even if you make it through the first two challenges..." He shook his head slightly. "If you do not have magic, it will be impossible for you to make it through the last."

"What's the last challenge?" Emma asked.

Lancelot shifted his gaze to her.

"I cannot tell you. It is a closely guarded secret, one which not even I have been able to ascertain. All I can tell you, all that I know, is that magic is the key." He took a step back. "And now I must go. If I can aid you over the next few days, rest assured I will, though you may not see me." He paused. "Snow, it would be better for you to take the first challenge. It will best suit your particular skills of survival." He smiled bitterly, his eyes anguished. "My dear friend, I wish you the best of luck and hope to see you victorious on the third day."

He opened the door to the cell and disappeared. Snow and Emma watched the solid wooden door close with a heavy thud of finality.

**A/N And before you ask, no it is not Cora in disguise. It actually is Lancelot. Til next time...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Thanks for reading :)**

**A/N2 Hello to all the Canadians!**

Chapter 7

It was the silence that was driving her crazy.

When she'd been living in Boston, her life hadn't been so great. There was no point in denying that. But, when thoughts had crowded her mind, there had been distractions. A bar. A city of millions. Traffic. Music blasting from somewhere.

Here, in the cell, there was nothing but cursed emptiness. And the warnings and fears she tried so hard to keep at bay crept and stretched like tentacles through her mind. Emma realised here in the silent gloom of pre-dawn just how much she was able to divert her attention back home.

She was ever aware of the presence of Mary Margaret beside her. Painfully aware. They had sat right here in this position for most of the night. Side by side on her bed made of straw. There had been few words. The occasional question. Strategising. Speculating what kind of magic they'd need if they got as far as the third challenge. Sometimes Mary Margaret had reached out to hold her hand and the contact had felt so_ real_. Their warm skin clasped together had been the only thing holding her together. And it hurt.

And what made it so painful was that very soon the guards would come to unlock the door to their cell. And they would call her mother's name. And Mary Margaret would stand up and they would take hold of her and lead her out.

And away from Emma.

A race.

What kind of race was it? Lancelot had told them Mary Margaret had the skills to do it. What kind of skills did she need? What kind of skills did she even _have_? Emma was becoming increasingly aware of just how much she didn't know about her mother. That even if she had read Henry's book cover to cover, it still wouldn't satisfy her need to _know._ It wouldn't give her a window into her mother's mind at that pivotal moment when they had put her in that wardrobe.

She'd felt resentful back in Storybrooke, had reprovingly questioned her parent's decision to send her away. If she allowed it, she felt the sting of abandonment when she thought about it too hard, or for too long. For crying out loud, they had put her in a wardrobe to the other side of nowhere, not knowing if they would ever see her again! There were parts of her that wanted to ask why, that had come up with all sorts of reasons. They hadn't wanted her. They hadn't been able to take care of her.

The Evil Queen had been about to enact a curse….

The truth seemed so much harder to reconcile. Especially when her healthy, strong, determined parents had been standing in front of her. They looked like they could take care of anyone and anything. Surely, they could have tried harder. Surely, they could have fought more valiantly.

And then her mind would always go back to that moment when her father had held her with tears running down his face.

That made her wonder if any reason would actually be enough. And if the answer to that was no, she had to find another way past this. Because no matter if she was angry, she didn't want to let them go…

Was this what Henry felt when he thought about her? Granted, he was a child who saw things in black and white so much more than she did. Her head was filled to the brim with grey. But, hadn't she done exactly the same thing to him as her parents had done to her for the same reason?

_We wanted to give you your best chance…_

He seemed to bear her no ill will. But, then, he'd grown up with a mother who'd loved him. Yes, Regina loved him. The fact that she had also been the Evil Queen took her brain in a direction that she just couldn't deal with right now.

"Do you have a headache?"

Emma started. She faced Mary Margaret, who stared at her with a frown of worry.

Emma huffed and raised her eyebrows. Headache didn't even begin to cover it.

"No," she replied. "No headache." She leaned her head back against the wall.

"Then, what is it?"

Emma could think of no way, in twenty-five words or less, to explain what_ it_ was. Or twenty-five minutes or less. How was she supposed to cram twenty-eight year's worth of questions and feelings into that? But, how could she let Mary Margaret go without saying something?

Anything.

Emma sat up straight and took a deep breath. She adjusted her position so she was half facing her mother.

"We're not finished," she ventured, trying to sound more confident than she felt. She watched Mary Margaret's brow furrow further. "You and me," she added, feeling her face turn warm, as she tried to make herself be understood in as few words as possible.

Mary Margaret seemed to fill in the gaps herself. She smiled gently and reached forward to grab Emma's hand again.

"Of course we're not finished," she agreed, squeezing Emma's fingers in her own.

Emma sat there, feeling entirely unsatisfied with where this was going. It was meant to be meaningful! It was meant to sustain both of them in the hours ahead. It was meant to reassure and comfort. This was insipid, not what she wanted to say at all. Trouble was, she didn't know exactly what she did want to say.

Just keep talking.

"It can't be finished until we get back to Storybrooke," she continued. "It can't be finished until... we're actually a family." Whatever that meant. As if she'd ever really known the concept. "No curses. No separations." She shook her head. "So, whatever you do out there, don't you dare come last." She gazed fiercely at Mary Margaret. "Don't come last." She practically crushed her mother's hand with her grip. "We haven't even..." _Started to be anything to each _other. "I've never..." _Even called you by your real name._

Emma felt her chest constrict even tighter. It all seemed to be waiting there, ready to pour out of her in wave after wave of feeling and experience and heartache. There was no time, yet she wasn't ready to unleash such a torrent. But, there was no time! Weren't people always asked what they would do in this position? What if you had one day to live? What if this was the last time you ever saw that person? What would you do if you had just one chance?

"I want us to be better," Emma choked out hoarsely. "I looked for you and wondered about you my whole life. And I can't sit here in the dark waiting for you to never come back."

Emma saw Mary Margaret reach up and felt as she, with one finger, brushed her cheek ever so softly to catch the errant tear that had somehow made its way out of Emma's eye. Emma closed her eyes, lest any more escape.

"Hey," Mary Margaret said softly. "Hey."

Emma felt the woman shake their clasped hands gently and opened her eyes.

"It is _not_ too late for us," Mary Margaret whispered, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. They had been close to each other before, but Emma couldn't remember ever being quite so close. "I was pretty good at surviving in the forest. This race will be over so quick and I'll be back here to worry about your turn." She leaned forward until they were merely inches apart. "I have the most important reason in the world to come back. I have you."

Emma couldn't remember anything like those words being spoken to her in twenty-eight years. Surely, there must be someone else in the cell with them, the person those words were really meant for. But, there was only Mary Margaret, looking at her like she meant every word. Emma opened her mouth, not even knowing what was going to come out, when there were movements from outside the cell, followed by the telltale click and jangle of the lock.

Mary Margaret leaped to her feet and pulled Emma up with her. She clutched at Emma's arms for a moment, then stepped forward and all but flung her arms around Emma. Emma, for a brief moment, felt the warmth and refuge of being surrounded with more love than she could really understand and slid her arms tightly around Mary Margaret's waist, turning her head to rest her cheek on her mother's shoulder. Mary Margaret had brazenly reached through the walls and effortlessly collapsed them from the inside. And all before Emma had even realised. As the door to the cell opened, Emma closed her eyes, trying to memorise the touch, the feeling, trying to make it last, make it count.

"It's time."

Both women started at Lancelot's voice and pulled apart. He smiled painfully, his eyes on Mary Margaret.

"I'm so sorry," he said, gesturing to the door.

Emma watched as Mary Margaret nodded briefly and turned to face her. Their hands touched one last time, a brief squeeze, as if to sustain them for as long as it took.

Perhaps for the rest of Emma's life.

_Snow._

She'd remembered such incredulity as Henry explained who her mother really was. A mythical princess. A legend.

_Snow._

And she remembered the look of fierce resolve in her eyes as Mary Margaret had lifted the bow to shoot through the rope she had hung from.

_Snow._

Suddenly, it seemed of great magnitude that she acknowledge her mother's true name. She had barely even voiced the words, let alone called her mother by them. She opened her mouth, shut it and pressed her lips together, before...

"Snow."

Mary Margaret froze. Her back went ramrod straight. And then she turned slowly on the spot until her eyes met Emma's.

"Snow," Emma tried again. "Come back." Her throat wouldn't work anymore.

A tear slid down Mary Margaret's cheek as she felt the effect of Emma's words wash over her. She smiled a smile that spoke only heartbreak.

"Soon," she reassured, her voice breaking. "Soon." She visibly swallowed. "Know that I love you." She nodded reassuringly. "Know that."

Lancelot took her arm and led her out of the cell, casting a sympathetic look back at Emma as he closed the door.

Emma walked forward on legs working on autopilot until she reached the door. She braced her palms against the wood and dug in with her nails with a claw-like grip as she watched Mary Margaret recede into the darkness.

And couldn't stop her knees from buckling until she was kneeling on the cold, hard ground, staring into the shadows for someone who was no longer there.

* * *

For someone who used emotional words sparingly, Emma's gaze had poured feeling on feeling at Snow. Those green eyes had practically screamed in despair as she'd all but begged Snow to return.

Since they'd met, _properly_ met as mother and daughter, Emma had been withdrawn. She'd been stubborn. She'd been aloof. She'd been overwhelmed, whether she admitted it or not. She'd even been scared. But the crushing desperation Snow had seen in her eyes, well, that was new. It made her wonder again at what cost she and David had sent Emma through the portal all those years ago. Sent her away to be without them. It was moments like that she questioned what they'd done, wondering if there had been any other way, but knowing she'd asked these same questions twenty-eight years ago, only to come up with the same answers.

Oh, her heart ached.

Ached with the weight of decisions past and present. Ached with the image of her precious daughter's face peering out from the baby blanket she'd been wrapped in, a face so unaware of what was to come. Ached with the knowledge that her beautiful girl was now sitting in the filth of that cell, waiting in the agony of the unknown. Wondering whether her mother was coming back.

Snow was no stranger to losing a mother. She remembered those dark lonely days and nights after her own mother had died. When she'd lost all idea of purpose and direction and nothing had made any sense at all.

And Snow remembered the early days of her acquaintance with Regina. Regina had been so young and beautiful and sweet, and when she'd smiled at Snow, it had felt like the sun had caught her up in its beams, warming all the parts of her that had grown cold after her mother died. And for a short time, the pain of loss had ebbed away into the deeper corners of her mind. But, then that fateful day had come and what she'd hoped for as that little girl had been ripped away and turned into a nightmare.

She had seen some of that pain in Emma's eyes as she'd been led from the cell. The pain of fear and dreams slowly dying.

It had been at that moment that she, if it had been at all possible, would have grabbed Emma's hand and fought their way out of the prison, scratching the eyes out of anyone who tried to stop them. Any fool to get in their way would have met the end of a sword. Or even her bare hands.

She would have done anything to spare Emma those feelings that caused her to look like..._that._

But, right now, anything meant leaving her daughter alone in a prison cell so she could go out and win a race. No, not win. All she had to do was make sure there were two people behind her when she finished. All she had to do was aim for mediocrity.

And Snow White was by no means mediocre.

She blinked in the sunlight as the procession trudged out into the courtyard. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had barely registered the walk up through the darkened corridor. Nor had she realised Paul had been walking in front of her the whole time. She lined up next to him and looked up and down the line.

She frowned and tried to figure out what felt wrong.

And then she realised.

All the other competitors were men. She was the only woman in the group. Snow knew for a fact that there were women amongst the company of prisoners. Paul had said he was with his daughter-in-law. And Snow knew she had seen at least two women in the group. But, none of them were here now.

She thought back to what Paul had said yesterday. About the teams. He had questioned why Snow would want to stay with Emma. What was it he had said?

_Two women together never last long._

Suddenly, mediocre had become something else entirely. But, Snow tried to focus on Lancelot's words. He had said she had the necessary skills for this challenge. She just had to trust that he was right.

The guards marched them forward, out of the camp and onto the road. As they walked along, Snow saw people moving to the side of the road to let them pass, much as they had for the wagon not long ago. A few murmured to each other, but nobody engaged them.

They walked quickly and were soon amongst the trees and in the forest. It was a windy morning and the branches waved amidst the canopy, and the leaves rustled and whispered loudly to each other in the green-tinged light. It reminded Snow of the forest near Storybrooke.

As they walked, Snow began to hear the sound of flowing water. But, it was much louder than when she and Emma had been running towards the river what seemed like days and days ago.

She soon found out why.

The group reached a clearing and walked out onto a stretch of dirt that led to the shoreline of the river.

They looked out at the water apprehensively.

It churned.

It swirled and eddied and its waves slapped into each other, causing little bursts of spray to explode into the air. It was impossible to know how deep it was in the middle, but the current looked strong. Very strong. This wasn't the same river she and Emma had navigated across. She would need to be strong if she was going to swim across and come out in seventh position or better. She turned her gaze to the men around her and her eyes fell on a man who looked a year or two younger than Emma. His face was white with fear and his hands were clenched into fists. His lower lip trembled as he spotted Snow watching him. He whispered something to her that she couldn't hear. But she read his lips as he uttered three words which made her heart sink in her chest.

"I can't swim."

Snow's own swimming skills were passable, but by no means anything of note. There must be something on the other side of the river that allowed Lancelot to have confidence in her. She turned back to the river, straightened her shoulders and stood tall, breathing in and out as evenly as possible.

_I have the most important reason in the world to come back._

"Take a position," Lancelot called out. The competitors moved forward against the shoreline, removing neither clothes nor shoes, allowing the water to lap around their ankles. The water was cold, but not unbearably so.

Randolph appeared and stepped forward, holding a red flag.

"You will swim across the river at its widest point," he declared.

Snow stared hard at the opposite shore, taking deeper breaths.

"From there, you will meet your next task," Randolph continued. "After that, there will be one more. The path you must take will be clear enough. Should you become lost, however, you will not be assisted, nor will you be attended to if you are injured. Save for attacking or killing another competitor, you may use any means necessary to finish in the best possible position."

_Any means necessary_, Snow thought. _Including magic_. She briefly wondered if any of the men with her had magic. Surely that wouldn't help much here?

She supposed she would find out soon enough.

"Ready yourselves," Randolph announced, lifting the flag.

All eyes were glued to the red scrap of material billowing in the wind. Snow's every muscle was tensed, waiting for the moment.

The flag dropped.

"Go!"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Sorry this took longer than it normally would. I'd give you the reasons, but really-you just want me to shut up so you can read the chapter :) **

**A/N 2 I don't normally have cause to put up trigger warnings, but I do describe drowning in somewhat vivid detail in this chapter, so just be warned if you've ever experienced anything like that.**

**A/N 3 Hi to all the Brazilians and Germans! **

Chapter 8

_1..._

_2..._

_3..._

_4..._

_5..._

Clang. Clink.

_1..._

_2..._

_3..._

_4..._

_5..._

Somewhere, a woman was screaming, high-pitched and terrified. Her voice came from far away, making the sound eerily echo along the length, breadth and depth of the corridor of the prison.

_1..._

_2..._

_3..._

_4..._

_5..._

She eyed the window high above her with grim, determined eyes. Pushing briefly against the wall, Emma shoved backwards, launching herself forwards, taking five running steps and throwing herself against the wall, sticking out her right foot and jumping up the wall. She flung her hands up and curled them around the bars, allowing her body to thump against the wall, anticipating its reaction, but focusing all her attention on not letting go of the bars. A couple of thumps and she stopped moving, allowing her arms to adjust to supporting her weight. Her breath escaped her mouth in loud, short bursts. After a couple more deep breaths, Emma shifted her body this way and that and readjusted her grip on the bars, before slowly lifting herself toward the window, her arms trembling from the effort to pull up.

She'd allowed herself this luxury every half hour or so. Not that she had a watch or any way of keeping track of the time. It was merely a guess at 30 minutes. Considering how time had become almost meaningless, it could be that she was doing this every 10 minutes. Or 5. Allowing herself the run and jump so she could pull herself up to look out the window. In reality, she knew that she wouldn't see anything. The big, empty space out there hadn't changed since they'd arrived. It was on the opposite side to where they'd been brought in and where they'd met Randolph. And Lancelot. But, somehow, it helped to see the shadows shift, an assurance that time, in fact, had not stopped. The passage of long, dark hours. That, eventually, if she waited long enough, there would be a moment when she'd hear footsteps at the door and the lock would click open and there Mary Margaret would be, returned from her challenge.

Emma locked her elbows against her chest, gritting her teeth and clenching just about everything that could be clenched as she stared grimly out at the dusty open space. She wasn't sure how long she'd sat in the darkness staring at the wall after Lancelot had taken her mother away. There had been no tears. What she was feeling went even beyond those. It hadn't been beyond the dull, hollow ache inside her chest though. And the feeling of absolute and utter helplessness that she was just sitting here while Mary Margaret was out there fighting for them. Fighting for her life.

Emma didn't do sitting and waiting very well. She needed to be moving, making a plan, taking action. Getting things done.

By the time her turn came, would it all be too late?

The muscles in her arms screamed at her and Emma felt them slowly giving way, inch by inch, until she couldn't hold herself up anymore. Her elbows unlocked and she slid down the wall to land with a thump on the ground, breathing hard; angry that she didn't have the strength, angry that Mary Margaret wasn't back yet, angry that she was trapped in this cell with its cold stone and foul stenches. She slapped the wall hard, wanting to shout her anger at the echoing walls. Instead, she turned until she was leaning with her back against the wall, and stared up at the ceiling.

It seemed an exercise in futility.

But, she began counting down again.

_Twenty-nine minutes_.

* * *

She could hear muffled sounds. Voices shouting perhaps. Or the roaring of waves. It was as if her head was stuck in a plastic, see-through container, making sounds deeper. And longer. Her open eyes took in the inky blackness around her as she waved her arms about slowly in a kind of breaststroke. It was murky, mysterious and a little frightening. She cast her eyes up, blinking slowly, before kicking off and gliding towards the surface. Just before she broke it, she looked down one last time, knowing there would be nothing to see.

He had sunk into the deep, never to rise again.

The force of her push through the surface of the water caused a small explosion amongst the already jostling, churning waves. Snow gulped in air whilst trying to spit water out, first opening widely and then shutting her eyes tightly to clear the water from them. She treaded water for a moment, taking stock of her position.

She was dead last.

And it was her own fault.

_Don't help him!_ Her inner voice had screamed. _He isn't your responsibility._

_Emma's waiting for you. She needs you._

But, Snow hadn't been able to heed that voice.

One which others would have called sense. One which others would have called self-preservation.

Randolph's gruff command had set everything in frantic motion. An initial flurry of bodies threw themselves towards and into the water, elbows and arms flailing and flying about, with the occasional grunt of pain as hard bone came into contact with soft flesh. After that, the group had thinned out, become staggered as the strong swimmers led from the front.

And they had needed all their strength.

The current was brutal. Even Snow's brief observation from the riverbank had been deceptive, had not fully prepared her for how hard the waves would drag her, would try to suck her down. Randolph had chosen the location well. She had spent half her time and energy barely moving forward, just trying to stop herself from moving sideways down the river, away from where she needed to be. It had become all but impossible to keep track of the other competitors as every time she let her concentration stray from keeping on track, she'd find herself being swept a few metres in the wrong direction.

She'd finally developed a semblance of a rhythm and even managed to pass a weedy-looking man, as he slapped at the water, mouth gaping, taking in more water than oxygen. It had given her a shred of confidence.

Until she'd made the mistake of casting a quick look behind her.

He'd been there.

_I can't swim._

Head bobbing just above the water, though half the time he dipped below the surface. Every time he'd emerged, his mouth would open immediately and that shrill, panicked scream could be heard, even above the waves. He hadn't even been calling for help, it was simply a petrified wail, piercing her ears. And her heart. Chilling her to the bone more than the cold ever could.

She'd turned away almost immediately, determinedly reminding herself of how far she still had to go. She'd been in seventh position, or so her best guess had been. Seven out of ten. A safe position, for now.

But, that inhuman scream, the scream of someone staring death right in the eye, a scream she had never heard and never wished to hear again, wouldn't leave her alone. It was as if she could hear it inside her own head and even if she'd been able to block her ears, there it would be. Inescapable.

So, she'd stopped.

And turned.

And swum back towards him, all the while cursing herself with language she would never otherwise use.

No matter what the curse had done to others, no matter what beastly actions others had taken, Snow knew what was _right_.

And leaving a drowning man to suffer his fate was unthinkable. Even if it doomed them both. There would be those that would condemn her for it, reminding her that she chose a drowning man over her daughter. But, better both still alive and with a fighting chance, than one dead in the depths.

As she'd swum towards him, he'd spotted her coming to his rescue and it seemed to cause him to flail and flounder all the more. And his mouth had opened even wider, which had allowed the next wave that hit him square in the face to fill his mouth with the rushing river and choke his lungs full of fluid.

He'd disappeared below the surface before she could even blink. She lengthened her strokes, coming to the place where he'd sunk and taken a deep breath, submerging herself into the dim depths, blindly reaching out to grab an arm, a leg, whatever she could grasp. Snow was certain she'd brushed against a hand once and redoubled her efforts until her lungs burned and her chest had started squeezing her from the inside out. She'd gone back to the surface to gain more oxygen, but by the time she'd pushed herself down again, there had been nothing but the gloom and the utter emptiness surrounding her.

It had been that fast.

A wave, a water-filled breath.

And then nothing.

And now, here she was, in the worst possible position.

Well, almost the worst.

Snow slowly, steadily pushed forward again, trying to put his face, his flailing, his screaming out of her mind. It almost seemed easier to focus on fighting the river than on the body sinking to the riverbed. Her mind felt blank, as if she could barely lock onto a coherent thought.

Snow strengthened her strokes, feeling her chest tighten. She couldn't come last. It seemed even more important now. She had to show them that she could be a decent human being _and_ stay in this competition. The water smacked her in the face time and time again, but she flicked it off with a shake of her head each time. She ploughed through the water, kicking ferociously, lunging, reaching out for the next stroke and the next. It seemed that the more vacant her mind became, the stronger her body was. She angrily surged through the water.

Until...

Until she felt sand under her feet.

Snow, very ungracefully, slapped her way through the last few strokes until she was able to stand up and push her way to the shore. She sank to her knees for a moment, placing a hand on each thigh, breathing heavily, stomach churning.

But, it wasn't over yet.

She staggered to her feet. She was yet to find the reason for Lancelot's confidence in her ability to make it through this challenge.

Which meant something else lay ahead.

Snow inhaled deeply through her nose and marched forward to where the trees seemed to swallow whatever lay beyond.

* * *

The path was short and overgrown, but clearly marked to provide a way forward. Snow, jogging whilst trying to dodge wayward branches, tried to see what lay ahead. She wondered at what point Randolph might expect someone to use magic or whether he was simply allowing them to be picked off until the final challenge in which, according to Lancelot, there would be no getting through without it. Snow shook her head slightly and pushed that thought from her mind.

_One problem at a time._

The path ended at a clearing and Snow slowed, casting her eyes around. It was empty of people, a clear sign that her fellow competitors had long departed.

A soft snort caught her ears and she turned towards it.

She spied her name, Mary Margaret, crudely written on a piece of wooden board and attached to a tree. She had been relieved to use the name given to her through the curse, certain that Randolph would never connect that name with her true self. And standing under the board was a beautiful black horse waiting patiently for her. She made her way towards it, hope stirring inside her.

She could ride. A lot better than she could swim, anyway. For brief moments, she had doubted Randolph's description that it was all merely a race. She had half expected nasty obstacles to be put in their way, obstacles to injure or remove them from the competition. She supposed that would defeat his purpose though. To discover someone who had magic. Perhaps he assumed, rightly or wrongly, that a possessor of magic would also be strong, strong enough to make it through.

Damn it if she wasn't.

She had outridden the Queen's soldiers on more than one occasion during her time as a fugitive. She knew how to handle a horse. Reaching the creature's side, she placed a confident hand on its flank, reaching up to grab the reins as she ran a hand smoothly along its body.

"Hello, my friend," she murmured. "You're going to save my hide." She received a snort in response.

Snow lifted her leg, placed her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself atop the horse. A short yank of the reins and a knee into the animal's side and she was away.

The moment she cleared the trees, she scoured the horizon ahead of her, squinting to catch a glimpse of the nearest competitor or even the dust kicked up by the nearest horse. But, the distant path appeared flat and untouched, a sure sign that any dirt or dust kicked up by the other competitors had long settled again, further reiterating how far behind she had fallen. She was ninth out of ten. If she was going to make it back to Emma, she needed to pass someone. Anyone. Snow nudged the horse and it picked up speed, its hooves thundering against the ground as it carried her forward, the landscape becoming a blur as she fixed her eyes ahead.

There was nothing but the beauty of the land awash in sunshine around her. At any other time, in almost any other situation, she would have relished the chance to clear out the cobwebs by doing this. To recapture a remnant of her former life. It reminded her of her youth, of those bittersweet days when her father still lived and, later, of stolen moments with Charming and all of the promises they had made to each other. Some moments made this seem as clear as if it were yesterday, while others made it feel all of those twenty-eight years and more.

But, here, now, she found it impossible to concentrate on all those lost dreams that felt hazy like heat shimmering on a distant horizon. Here, flying down the path astride her steed, anxieties flung themselves at her like obstacles for her and her horse to jump. Erratic thoughts, like what would she do if she came across another competitor in need of assistance? What if she spotted, somewhere ahead, a man whose horse had broken down lame? Would she offer to share her horse or would she simply turn her face away and gallop past, leaving him stranded and waiting for almost certain death? She had already sacrificed herself and Emma once in the river for a drowning man. Would she take the same path a second time?

Snow tried to guess at how long the challenge had lasted thus far. It felt like hours. Hours in the water, hours failing to save a doomed man, hours riding this horse. What had Emma been doing all this time? Pacing around like a caged animal? Coming up with wild escape plans? Sitting in a corner of the cell, wishing on every star that she would return soon? Snow couldn't help but remember the look in her daughter's eye, her name, her _real_ name on her daughter's lips as she'd been led away. There had been something in Emma's eyes that she'd never seen before. A tenderness. A wanting. A fear. Whatever it had been, it was over as soon as she'd caught a glimpse. Just like every other opportunity since the curse had broken.

She almost wished against these tiny moments even happening as they seemed nothing more than a taunting of her feelings, a mere tease to what a real family life could be.

Her first moments with her daughter had been interrupted by the mob storming to Regina's house, intent on tearing the Queen limb from limb. Their first real conversation had taken place while on the way to a meeting with Gold about what the hell he was up to. And after that, they had focused all their energy on the wraith.

And then the portal had opened.

It was chaos. Utter madness.

Still, Snow urged her horse on, faster, harder. As heartbreaking as it was, she longed to see that look on Emma's face again, longed for the feeling of Emma's head resting on her shoulder as it had in the wagon. Longed to give Emma the life she deserved. The mother Snow knew, deep down, Emma had always yearned for, even if she would never give voice to such a dream.

For who would move heaven and earth to make Emma's dreams come true if not her mother?

The horse charged on.

* * *

Emma's current reverie was shattered by loud voices and thunking bootsteps coming down the corridor. Her neck whipped around so she could fix her eyes on the door, her heart immediately leaping into her throat and hammering madly.

Was it over?

She rose to her feet and walked to the door, taking hold of the bars across the door's opening and standing on the tips of her toes to take in as much as possible with such a short range of sight. She watched a couple of guards stride past and she jammed her cheek against the wall to follow them as far as possible. They were quickly removed from her sight, but she could clearly hear the sound of a key turning in a lock and a door being pulled open.

"Get up," she heard a gruff voice command. A muffled, unintelligible response was all she could hear, before a scuffle took place and a panicked voice began crying out.

"Where's Angas? Where's Angas? Where's my son?" the anguished voice cried. Emma pressed her cheek even harder against the wall, but could see nothing. The sounds of the struggle grew louder until, finally, Emma could see a guard with his back to her, moving erratically towards her end of the corridor. A second man came into view and Emma guessed it was Angas' father from the way the guard yanked and pulled at him.

"Where's my son?" he cried and Emma squeezed her eyes shut as the reality hit. The reality of why he was crying. Of why they were taking him away.

Angas, whoever he was, hadn't made it. Either some trouble had befallen him...or he'd been in one of the last two places of the group. And now that one of this man's team was gone...there was no need for the other to remain here.

Emma opened her eyes again and watched the threesome struggle their way down the corridor and out of her line of sight. She listened to his screams for his son, for answers, for mercy until even the echoes had faded.

One was down. When would the others return?

When would Mary Margaret return?

Emma stood, her forehead pressed to the door, her breathing loud in the long silence.

* * *

There.

Up ahead.

Snow's keen eyes caught sight of shapes moving in the distance. As she drew closer, she could see horses milling in the fields, their riders nowhere in sight. She slowed her horse down and trotted amongst the group of animals. She looked down the hill and her breath caught in her chest. She let out a breath and smiled incredulously.

At last.

The reason for Lancelot's faith.

She slid off the horse and strode forward, not sparing it a backward glance. Walking down the hill toward the challenge area, she glanced around to count how many other competitors she could see.

Not many.

Her heart lurched.

A guard barely lifted his chin in acknowledgement as she approached the final area; a wide, open space stretching far across the field.

"Hit three bullseyes," he said, "and you're done." He lifted an eyebrow, nodding his head towards the other competitors. "Better be quick."

Snow looked past him and spotted her name, this time atop a wooden post, and hastened towards it. Lying on the ground next to it was the equipment she needed. She bent down and picked up the bow, remembering the words the guard had spoken when she and Emma had first been caught.

_You'll need a better one than that where you're going..._

So, this was what he'd meant. Snow grabbed the quiver of arrows and quickly counted seven inside. She slung it over her shoulder and looked up to gauge the situation.

There were three targets in front of her. The first was a short distance away and she was confident of hitting the middle on her first try. The second was a distance behind that and a third, further back still. There lay the difficulty and, gathering from the other competitors still present, it was no easy task.

If someone were going to use magic, could they use it here? A slight flick of the wrist to turn an errant arrow back onto the right line. A small gesture to move a target a few centimetres to the left or right. Despite their apparent lack of interest, Snow was sure the guards were watching them like hawks. Looking to be the first to catch an elusive wielder of magic.

As she stepped into her own area, Snow saw that there were three men left, all still trying to hit their targets. They had each obviously cleared the first and two of them had cleared the second.

She needed to beat one of them. One out of three.

As she pulled out her first arrow, the man in the lead of their straggling group let out a whoop as his arrow thudded into the third bullseye. He threw down his bow emphatically and sneered over at the others, including Snow. A guard moved over to him and led him away toward the other side of the hill.

There were still two men left and Snow still needed to beat one of them. She frowned as she saw one suddenly run forward, scouring the ground near the second target. He bent down and picked up a stray arrow, clearly the result of a poor shot. She watched as he pulled four other misfired arrows from their target, before running back to his position to try again.

Five arrows. He had only five, while she had seven. Why did she have more...?

_If I can aid you over the next few days, rest assured I will..._

Lancelot's words leapt unbidden into her mind. Had he slipped her the extra arrows to give her even a small gain?

Snow shook her head hard and faced her first target. There could be no time wasted now. She was back in the game and she had an advantage. It didn't matter how it had come about.

She sized up the first target and lifted her bow. Notching an arrow into it, she narrowed her eyes, focusing them on the bullseye, and pulled back.

_The rope stringing Emma up by her ankle._

Snow released the arrow and began striding forward before it had even hit the bullseye. She allowed herself a grim smile as she heard a curse of surprise from the competitor at the targets next to hers. The smile vanished as she heard a satisfied holler from the other competitor still there. He had just hit his third target. She couldn't afford to spare a single glance at him, so she stopped at her second position and gauged the distance.

She couldn't help but see the competitor in the next target area, her only competition left now, pulling his arm back to take a shot. He released it quickly and her heart thudded in her chest as the arrow sank into the bullseye. He immediately moved forward to his last target.

Snow quickly whipped out an arrow and notched it. She raised her head and held it still as she lifted her bow again, measuring the longer distance to the second target.

_The rope stringing Emma up by her ankle._

Her hand let go of the string of the bow and the arrow zoomed toward the target. It thudded into the small circle, barely within the line.

Snow swallowed hard and moved forward again, this time lining up side by side with the last man, who was lining up a second shot at the third target. She had apparently thrown him off his first shot with her own success and it had gone wildly off target, barely catching the target area at all. Still, he yanked another arrow out of his quiver and readied himself.

One right move, one good shot and it would be all over for her and Emma. The man next to her released his arrow and Snow breathed a sigh of relief when it again went wide.

Snow quickly pulled out a third arrow and lined herself up again. The final target was a considerable distance away, definitely reachable, but difficult. In the corner of her vision, she saw the other man line up with his third arrow. She inhaled deeply, steadied herself and let go.

The arrow caught the outside of the bullseye line and Snow clenched her jaw at the miss, reaching back for another arrow. The man next to her appeared to be taking his time with his fourth arrow, deciding that caution might help his aim, and now they were lined up together, bows straight and unmoving, arms pulled back to unleash their last desperate attempts.

Snow took a deep breath and held it as she raised her bow higher and pulled back a little further. The world disappeared, but for the target in front of her. She ignored the man barely a few paces away, preparing to release his own arrow. Sounds faded into the distance.

It was down to this. She would show no mercy now. The drowning man was gone. There was only her and Emma.

Of the two archers here, one of them would be escorted back to the prison, the challenge completed.

The other...

"Emma," Snow whispered into the chill air. "Emma."

She let the arrow fly.

* * *

Emma's face ached from pressing it against the wood. Her fingers were sore from clenching so tightly around the bars in the door.

They had begun returning a short time ago. Wet, weary and subdued, they had shuffled along the corridor, led by the guards to be returned to their cells. As soon as she'd seen them, Emma had begun counting. Anything beyond eight didn't exist.

Couldn't exist.

_1..._

_2..._

She didn't see number three, but heard an audible sob of relief from whom she assumed was Paul's daughter-in-law in the cell next to hers.

"Please," she breathed, as the fourth and fifth competitors were escorted past. "Please." Emma felt herself shaking all over and her breaths became ragged.

Number six filed by sullenly. Followed by number seven.

Emma suddenly couldn't see through the water rapidly filling her eyes. It was too real. It was too much. Mary Margaret wasn't coming back. Mary Margaret was gone. She couldn't be alone. Couldn't stand and watch as everyone but her mother returned with another chance to live to see tomorrow.

Could she?

Please. This time she had no voice to make the word, simply mouthing it as she heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards her. She blinked and twin tears escaped her eyes, making identical trails down opposite sides of her face.

The footsteps came closer until...

She finally caught sight of number eight...

And closed her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Thanks for reading and for 100 reviews. You're very generous!**

**I use a line from 2x01 in this chapter. I'm sure you'll recognise it.**

**Hello to the Spanish :)**

Chapter 9

Her cheek twitched at the irritation on her face and she swallowed hard at the gradual thickening in her throat.

She was weary and more than a little sore and had energy enough to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, but nothing left for lifting her hand.

She let the tear continue its slide down her cheek. As she automatically moved her right foot in front of her left. And vice versa.

Snow followed the guards through the gate and back into the courtyard. She kept her eyes on the ground, not wanting to deal with smirks or curious glances or sneers from strangers. She barely knew what to think, what to feel, how to speak. She supposed it was shock and wondered if any of the other competitors felt the same way. Though the other competitors hadn't seen what she'd seen. Heard what she'd heard. Allowed it to penetrate into their hearts as she had.

And most of all, she didn't know what she would say to Emma when she returned to their cell. She felt hollowed out, yet at the same time, as dense as a black hole. A ball of matter consisting of bits and pieces of broken feelings sat in the middle of her chest, pressing from the inside, making her breathing shallow and unsatisfying. She wanted to close her eyes and weep. Or scream. Or do vengeful things to bad people.

Images rushed through her head, uncensored.

Two.

Two.

Her survival, _Emma's_ survival, had come at the expense of two lives. Two men she had never met before today and would never see again. Whose final sunset would be the same one she would not see from the window of her cell tonight. But, it would be four lives, wouldn't it? The ones she'd seen and the others who had waited behind. Had waited like Emma was waiting.

His face was constantly there, just at the edge of her vision, had been ever since he had disappeared beneath the surface of the river. And that ungodly scream that had pierced every living thing around her seemed still to ring in her ears, like a church bell's echo minutes after it had fallen silent. She saw his face frozen and contorted in death, though she had not actually seen him die. She had run out of air long before then. And all that had remained was the dark liquid emptiness. It had reminded her somewhat of the sleeping curse she had willingly given herself to long ago.

And now his face was joined by a new face. A new cry of horror.

She had let her arrow leap from her hands milliseconds before her neighbour had released his own.

Hers had thudded into the bullseye, dead centre. And her sheer and utter relief had lasted about a second.

He had argued and Snow couldn't blame him for that. His voice had grown louder and more aggressive and, finally, more desperate as he used every possible angle to try and convince the guards his shot had landed first, even going so far as to accuse her of using magic to throw his arrow off.

"_She interfered! That's against the rules! It was _my_ arrow that hit first!"_

But, it had all been in vain as his words fell on deaf ears. The guard's faces were expressionless as they had taken hold of an elbow each and begun escorting him away. He had twisted his neck to stare behind himself at her, somewhere in between shock and disbelief, appealing to her for help. She, the one person who could do nothing.

"_Tell them! Tell them!"_

For all the bravery that others had extolled her for in her life, for all the times her faithful companions had sworn on everything they held dear that they would follow her courage into the darkest night, Snow White was glad there was no one to see her now. No one to see the moment when she had lowered her eyes away from his gaze, shut her ears to his pleas. Abandoned him. Oh, others would give it another name, tell her there was nothing to be done, that it had simply been her or him in the end.

Still, for some strange reason, it conjured up that day, that moment decades ago when she had held Regina's life in her hands. The arrows had been poised, aiming straight for the Queen to carry out her execution. The witnesses had gathered, ready to rejoice in the defeat of evil. And Snow had stopped them. She had been merciful, risking everything not to have to have it end with her stepmother's death. Clutching desperately at the tiny seed of hope for redemption.

She wasn't a killer. She wanted to save lives, not take them.

They would say now that she had no choice, but to let this man be led away. But, Snow felt by her silence, by her cowardly acquiescence, she was just as guilty of taking his life. Unlike Regina's execution, she would not call out this time.

She let it happen. Another place, another time, she might have gone in his place. She might have been noble enough to give herself up for him. But, she had a husband, a grandson, _a daughter._ And right now, that daughter was waiting for her.

_Come back._

Two words uttered with so much longing, so much emotion. Snow knew that should Emma ever again ask her for something with that voice, she would be helpless to deny her. If Emma had had that voice in the minutes before David took her to the wardrobe, Snow would have burnt the thing down herself before letting him put Emma inside.

It was thoughts like that which made her question her every move, her every decision.

It was a bad time for thinking, especially of things which could never be undone.

Snow, walking behind the guard, looked up as they approached the entrance back down into the prison. A new dread filled her now. Any moment, she would be reunited with Emma and the bittersweet pain of what they had said to each other before thudded through her quickening heartbeat.

It was Emma's turn now.

Sometime, in the hours ahead, Emma would leave her behind to go searching for some mysterious object. And it would be Snow pacing the cell like a caged lion, counting the hours of agony until her return.

Would Emma face a similar choice to her? To choose to fight or remain silent? To help or abandon? To watch men breathe their last...

The lengthening shadows forced Snow to watch the ground more carefully. It wouldn't do to trip and hurt herself after everything she'd just done. She looked up eventually, her eyes fixing on the open doorway back to the row of cells. She was the last one back inside. She stepped through the doorway and immediately cast her gaze toward the door to her cell. The door that would lead back to Emma. The last two competitors disappeared into their cells and the doors clanged shut.

Snow took the last few steps as the guard opened her door.

* * *

Emma opened her eyes. Her mouth was as dry as dust and she licked her lips, standing back from the door.

She didn't even know how long she'd been waiting. The endless jumps up to the window, the sight of Angas' father being led away, the crawling moments when the other competitors had filed past her anxious eyes. Now, that all seemed to disintegrate into thin air at the sight of Mary Margaret's face outside the door.

She took another step back as the door creaked open. Mary Margaret slowly stepped inside, her eyes immediately locking with Emma's. Neither spoke, neither moved as the guard backed out of the cell and locked the door behind him. Still they stood frozen. It seemed they were both listening for the footsteps to fade away. Both waiting for complete privacy before...

If she'd been able to think about it, plan it in advance, she probably wouldn't have launched herself at her mother so desperately. Wouldn't have thrown her arms around Mary Margaret's neck in such a needy way. Wouldn't have squeezed until it hurt. Wouldn't have let her feelings shower down around and between them so blatantly.

She could blame it on the competition.

Blame it on the Enchanted Forest.

Blame it on being trapped in a prison cell.

Blame it on a life without real love.

But, just then, she could only hold on for dear life as her eyes widened in the dull light of their prison. There was no planning a moment like this. There was only what the heart needed.

Who would have thought she'd ever pay attention to what her heart needed?

Emma sighed and her shoulders sank in relief as she rested her chin on Mary Margaret's shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to utter a single word that would convey the emotions thundering around in her insides. She thought of a hundred things she could say, but none of them seemed anything other than redundant, given the fact that she was currently crushing the very breath from her mother in what was possibly the strongest embrace she had ever been a part of.

_You made it._

_I'm so glad you're here._

_I was so scared._

_Please don't ever go again._

So, she said nothing and let the long moments pass. Until she felt it.

A trembling. A shaking.

Emma felt as if all the air was being sucked out of the room as she realised.

Mary Margaret was crying?

_Shit._

Relief she could deal with. But, crying? Emma froze in her mother's embrace, her mind whirring. Well, now she had to say something. She couldn't just stand there. Couldn't let her mother stand there crying.

_Get her talking._

Emma pulled back and grasped Mary Margaret by the shoulders. Her eyes were glassy, but no tears had fallen. She smiled briefly.

"What the hell happened out there?"

Mary Margaret lifted her hands and placed them on top of Emma's.

"I'm ok. I'm ok," she murmured softly. It was, quite possibly, the flimsiest lie she'd ever told.

Emma raised her eyebrows in a look of incredulity.

"I don't even need my superpower to know that's a load of crap," she said. She pulled her hands away and led Mary Margaret further into their cell, over to the wall to sit against it. She turned, sitting side-on to the wall and crossed her legs in front of her, waiting expectantly. "Did you really come eighth?"

Mary Margaret nodded, seemingly grateful for the opportunity to go through it clinically, unemotionally.

"I was the only woman," she began, "which means you'll have more in your challenge. That could be an advantage." She smiled faintly, as if that thought alone gave her extra strength.

Emma nodded shortly, before prompting her to continue.

Mary Margaret took a breath.

"It began at the river," she said, looking straight ahead at the opposite wall. "The current was strong. It was hard to get even a few metres forward. I looked back and…" She pressed her lips together.

Emma, without thinking, reached forward and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. She was doing a lot more things without thinking these days. Especially when it came to the woman in front of her.

"He told me he couldn't swim," Mary Margaret continued. "I went back to help him, but he disappeared so fast. I looked…" Her voice trailed off.

"Angas," Emma said softly, realising. Mary Margaret's brow furrowed and she explained. "His father was taken away awhile ago. He was calling his name. Asking…" She shrugged resignedly. "We all knew what it meant."

Mary Margaret shook her head and bit her lip.

"I don't know if knowing his name is better or worse," she replied, allowing her head to fall back against the wall behind them. "Is it better for him or for me to be a nameless stranger? Would never knowing his name be easier on my conscience?"

Emma frowned.

"Mary Margaret, you can't blame yourself for this. This was an impossible choice, one that wasn't even yours to make! You did what nobody else would've done in going back for him. You couldn't have saved him." She leaned closer, gripping her hand tightly, determined to make her mother hear her. "There was nothing you could have done to stop this. Do you hear me?" Her gaze searched over Mary Margaret's face. "I wish I could have been there…"

Mary Margaret's gaze turned sharp. She shook her head firmly.

"No Emma," she said quietly. Her tone was like nothing Emma had heard before. Gentle, melancholy, yet with an edge of intensity. "You should not have been there. You should be nowhere near here. And if I had any choice, I would go in your place for the next challenge. And the next." She placed a hand to her chest and pressed down. "I don't care how old you are. I am your mother and it's my job to protect you." She sprang to her feet and stalked a few paces away from Emma, before spinning around. "I thought that I could." She waved her arms aimlessly. "But, our plans would never have worked. At the time, it seemed like the best choice, the only choice, but seeing things as they are now…" Her voice trailed off and she stared wordlessly at Emma.

Emma stared back at her. What was Mary Margaret talking about?

"I don't understand," she said slowly. "What plan? What do you mean?"

Her mother took a step forward.

"Foster care," she whispered. "Was it really as bad as you said?"

Any words she had been thinking of immediately died in Emma's throat. Her mother wasn't talking about the challenge. She was talking about the decision to send her away all those years ago. What had happened out there to make Mary Margaret think of that? And what could Emma tell her? That she hadn't always been someone's meal ticket? That she had had a loving family who had given her everything she had ever wanted? That she hadn't grown up a loner, an outsider, never quite fitting in, never quite being accepted?

That she hadn't needed to conjure up fantasies as a child of being reunited with her parents because the reality was too lonely to bear?

The lies wouldn't come. But, the truth would only hurt both of them. She thought back to their conversation in Storybrooke. She'd seen it all through the eyes of an abandoned child.

Black and white.

_For twenty-eight years I only knew one thing. That my parents sent me away._

The scar would always be there. Emma knew now, she _knew_, deep in her gut that Mary Margaret-Snow White-would not leave her willingly. She'd seen it in the way Mary Margaret had orchestrated their escape from the warrior, how she'd pushed them on past the point of exhaustion, in the look in her eye when she'd introduced Emma to Lancelot.

But, the scar of twenty-eight years would remain. Twenty-eight years of wandering from place to place, wondering if she would ever know what it was like. What it was like to have a home and to have people there waiting for her, just for her. Those years could never be taken back. But, at the same time, the reason why it had all happened this way wasn't as clear as it had once been. In those angry days when she was younger, trying to figure out _why_, there had never been any reason to satisfy her anger and pain. They simply hadn't loved her enough. They hadn't really wanted her. She hadn't been worth it.

But, this damn fairytale stuff made it all too confusing.

"Why are you asking me now?" Emma asked. She wasn't sure if she was simply evading the question or if she genuinely wanted to know.

Mary Margaret gazed back at her.

"Because I need to know."

Emma felt her shoulders sag. How could she refuse Mary Margaret now, when she had clearly been through something terrible?

"It won't help us now," she replied, standing and taking a step toward her mother. "We can talk...all you want back in Storybrooke. I'll tell you anything, everything. But, it won't do any good here and now. Not when it's just the two of us trying to stay alive." She lifted her arms helplessly. "I don't want to spend the..." She paused before she could say anything about their last days or hours together. Was it really as bad as all that? She didn't even know. "I don't want to spend this time hurting you. And if we talk about my past, I'm afraid I'll hurt us. And I don't want to do that."

Mary Margaret closed the distance between them and placed her hands on either side of Emma's face.

"You can't hurt me by being honest."

Emma felt her eyes burn.

"Don't ask me to tell you yet. Not yet," she whispered her reply. Let all the hurt come when they were safe.

Mary Margaret seemed to sense the unspoken. She nodded briefly and pulled her hands away from Emma's face, but reached down to grab one of Emma's, leading them back to the wall. When they were seated again, Emma asked the question she had been dreading ever since her mother had returned.

"How close was it?"

The expression in Mary Margaret's eyes was unreadable.

"Close enough," she said quietly.

And in those two words, Emma _knew_.

A loud clang brought them both back to the present. Both Mary Margaret and Emma leapt to their feet and strode over to the door, their eyes peering through the gloom into the corridor. A cell further down opened and after a few moments, they both heard a woman's scream.

"_No!"_

And once more, the guards dragged a hapless competitor down the corridor.

"He tried to convince them I used magic," Mary Margaret said softly and Emma turned her head to look at her mother. "Tried to get them to take me instead. And I just watched them take him away."

Emma gripped her mother's hand wordlessly.

"I did nothing," Mary Margaret continued. "I was too busy thinking about how I could never leave you again."

The woman passed their cell and, as before, the sounds of her struggle died away, leaving a heavy cloud of silence.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N Hello Colombians and Swedes :)

A/N2 Another line used from 2x01

Thanks for reading! This chapter kind of got away from me and I wanted to keep it together, hence the longer than usual read ahead of you.

Please realise I know nothing about fire-just go with it.

Chapter 10

They would come.

As both Emma and Snow knew they would. They had awoken early in order to…

What? Prolong the inevitable? Make the long goodbye even longer? Once they'd finished speculating about what Emma's challenge would entail and making general small talk about their current plight, there wasn't much else to say. Emma wasn't a chatty person and neither was the sort of person to sit clinging to each other.

Though Snow rather thought she might do it if Emma wanted to. For twenty-eight years, she hadn't even had the small luxury of fantasising about that due to the curse erasing all memory of Emma. But, now, to hold her child, her only child, close against her and know that she was giving her strength. Courage. Confidence. To have that knowledge, that awareness of Emma's presence right beside her after everything. If someone had asked her to explain what that would mean, what that would cause her to feel, well, Snow wasn't sure there were any words in any language that could express such a thing.

So, instead, she kept her tone as natural as possible, focused on strategising and keeping the conversation on the immediate problems and trying to be as encouraging as she could without seeming over the top.

Inside, however…

The previous day's events hadn't left her. Perhaps they never would. She'd dreamed all night of being dragged under water and unable to get back to the surface. The heavy, silky water closed over her head and her lungs had just about exploded from the pressure. And she'd dreamed of the final part of her challenge, but instead of a target to shoot at, it had been Emma standing there. Thankfully, she'd woken up before her dream self had released the arrow.

And now Emma…

Snow had no idea how she was supposed to survive these long hours.

As it turned out, she hadn't done a very good job of masking her emotions. Just after dawn, they sat together, Emma with her head against the wall, she picking at a loose thread on her pants.

"It's ok if you want to freak out over this."

Snow lifted her head to meet Emma's gaze. Her daughter smiled crookedly. Knowingly.

"I mean," Emma continued, turning to gaze at the ceiling, "you gave me permission to freak out in the woods before, so it's only right that I reciprocate. So, it's ok. If you want to."

Snow huffed a small laugh, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. It just as quickly faded into a sigh. The silence hung between them, dense and full of unspoken words.

"Oh, Emma," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Emma shifted until she was facing her mother.

"I hope you realise this is the kind of opportunity that doesn't come around very often," she said lightly, her mouth turning upward at the corners almost imperceptibly. "I'm letting you say whatever you want, do whatever you want, here and now. Your only child is going out into the great unknown and I know you don't want to just sit here unravelling your clothes." She tilted her head slightly.

Snow stared at her, her brow furrowed.

_I don't want to talk._

Emma had said that to her back in Storybrooke. David had told her not to push it, but she hadn't been able to help herself. The overwhelming relief and joy of meeting Emma…how could she not want to talk to her daughter? Of course, that conversation hadn't exactly ended the way Snow would have liked…

_I don't want to talk._

But, Emma had just said she could say whatever she wanted to her. Was it possible…what if Emma needed it as much as Snow needed to give it? Trouble was, Snow didn't know exactly what _it_ was.

She looked up into Emma's eyes and swallowed past the thick lump in her throat.

"What would you say if you had to condense everything you felt into a few sentences?" she asked, her voice catching. Emma's eyes flickered, but she said nothing. "And what would you include if you knew there were things that needed explaining, but no time to explain them? Things you wished the other person would understand..." She faltered for a moment. "Things I wish for you to understand. How can I tell you how much I love you without the words losing their meaning? How can I say I'm sorry and have it make up for everything? If I..."

"Don't explain anything," Emma cut her off. "Don't waste your time with apologies."

Snow forgot how to breathe momentarily. Was Emma so angry even now when it could all end that she didn't want to hear it?

"Like you said, there's no time," Emma continued and Snow breathed again. Emma lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, letting them fall back to her knees. "I will have plenty of time to hear that later." Her eyes dropped to the floor and she chewed her lip. "You want to say something to me? Then give me something I can take with me." Her head jerked up suddenly and Snow was taken aback by the intensity of her gaze. "Whatever this challenge is, it sure isn't going to be good. I mean, after what you went through..." She shook her head. "But, if you give me something to take with me...I learned a long time ago what words can do. I've had all kinds of words thrown at me in my life and a lot of them weren't good. But, I...I feel like a word from you could, maybe, undo some of those other words..." She stopped, unable to go further. She looked abashed at what she had just blurted out.

Snow pushed herself off the ground and shuffled until she and Emma were face to face. Now, she knew what _it _was.

"There have been so many choices in my life that I have second-guessed, regretted, wondered if it was truly the right path." She reached forward and grabbed Emma's hand and suddenly she could see the child under the surface of Emma's tough exterior, see the desperation for approval, the desire for something real to hold onto. "But, when I watched you be pulled into that portal by the wraith, when I heard you screaming...there was only one choice, one course of action for me to take. Make you safe. I didn't even have to think about it. And I would make the same choice a thousand times again. I would choose you every time. I chose you the moment you were born, even if that choice is something you will never understand." Snow nodded firmly. "So take that with you. That _you're_ my choice."

The key clanged in the lock and the door to their cell swung open.

_I can't bear another goodbye_, Snow thought as she and Emma slowly stood and faced Lancelot. _I can't watch her go._

But, watch her Snow did. As Emma reached forward, initiating the embrace. As Emma stood back, her eyes never leaving Snow's, despite the tears which filled them without spilling over. As Emma backed away, being guided gently out by Lancelot. As Emma craned her neck to maintain the visual.

Until she couldn't.

Snow placed a hand on the heavy wood and pressed her forehead to the door.

And the long dark hours of waiting began.

* * *

Emma squinted as she stepped out into the sunlight in the courtyard. She wasn't sure if the weight of feelings could get any heavier. She had thought it would be better somehow, if her mother said something. But, now that she had those words – _you're my choice – _she needed to go off by herself somewhere, bury her head in her hands and try to understand what the hell it all meant. Instead, she followed Lancelot's direction and stood beside him, ready to get this challenge over with.

"Are you ok?" the knight asked.

Emma glanced at him.

"I'm fine," she said shortly. Her mother may have been his friend once upon a time, but she wasn't sure she could make nice with a man working for Randolph.

"And your mother?"

Emma scoffed, turning to glare at him.

"How do you think? She watched a man drown yesterday and now she has to sit in that cell wondering if I'm ever going to come back!"

Lancelot's lips twisted and his eyes softened in what Emma supposed was an expression of sympathy. She grew uncomfortable as he continued to gaze at her for long moments, something inexplicable written on his face.

"I'll never forget the day we saved you," Lancelot said quietly at last.

Emma looked at him quizzically.

"Saved me? How? You never met me."

Lancelot smiled wistfully at the memory.

"I'll let your mother tell you the whole story," he said, turning to stand in front of Emma. She just stared back at him sceptically. "But, know this." His dark eyes penetrated hers. "I never saw such joy as I did that day." He raised his hands and pointed at Emma. "When she said she was going to have a girl..." He shook his head slowly, his fingers slowly clenching into fists. "I think even the sun was smiling at her happiness."

Emma swallowed thickly and her eyes immediately burned. Why did the strongest of emotions, the deepest of confessions always have to happen at the edge of death? She blinked rapidly and stepped away from the knight, desperately trying not to let any tears escape.

_You're my choice..._

_I never saw such joy..._

She swallowed again and pushed past Lancelot to join the small group of competitors, feeling his eyes remain on her as she stood at the back of the gathering. She couldn't focus on that right now. Couldn't think about how all that love could be directed at her.

Her.

Emma Swan.

Somebody's daughter.

Somebody's beloved.

It was with something almost like relief that Emma spotted Randolph striding towards them, an entourage of guards in tow. She felt anger rise up into her chest, crowding out all other thoughts and feelings as she thought of what this was all for. So he could find some magic to find that tool Spencer. King George. Whatever. People had died for him and they had never even had a choice.

Randolph stood in front of the group of eight. There were, as Mary Margaret had predicted, more women this time. Four, including Emma. The other four were young-ish men. The oldest couldn't have been more than 35, the youngest looking barely out of junior high. Or whatever the equivalent of junior high was in fairytale land. Emma supposed she should feel confident being surrounded by women and boys, but her disgust sat like a stone inside her.

"Welcome to your challenge," Randolph announced. He pointed to a wagon a few metres away. "First, you must take a short ride to your objective. You will be required to search a large house for something of great value. When you are finished, you will present your choice to me and I will decide if your choice is agreeable. The two competitors who choose items worth the least to me will be eliminated." He nodded in satisfaction. "Let us begin."

The word _eliminated _hung like a shroud over the group as they sat in the wagon, bouncing around uncomfortably all the way to their destination. Yesterday's elimination still pressed hard on their chests and Emma could hear a couple of people crying.

She wasn't sure if she should be ashamed that she felt like crying too.

The house, when they arrived, loomed large. It looked old and rundown now, but Emma imagined it would have been the pride of some family at one time long ago. Made of stone, it was comprised of two storeys with a balcony running the entire length of the second floor. She counted the windows and estimated there to be at least 30 rooms in the whole house.

Thirty rooms to search for some kind of valuable item. Would there be a time limit? How many valuable items were actually in there? Was there some kind of catch? Was there something inside which Randolph would expect someone to need magic for? So far, Emma's experience with magic consisted of a large egg, a kiss, a spinning hat and a swirling purple vortex. She wasn't sure how much help any of that would be, not to her anyway.

Randolph moved to stand in front of the house and beckoned the guards to move them all closer.

"Take as long as you need," he said, gesturing to the house behind him. "But, not too long."

Emma wondered what that meant as she followed the other competitors inside. They stood in a large entryway, watching as the guards left them and exited quickly.

It was then Emma smelt something strange. It wasn't a strong smell, but there was...something... She breathed in a couple of times, trying to put her finger on what it was.

The group began heading in a couple of different directions and Emma herself headed towards a short passageway leading further into the house. As she approached the passageway, she put out a casual hand, steadying herself against the wall. Frowning, she pulled back her hand and studied her fingers, rubbing them together. A viscous substance covered them and she brought her fingers close to her nose, inhaling.

There. That subtle smell wouldn't mean much, but combined with the feel of it between her fingers told her straight away what it was. She felt herself grow cold and she looked around at the other competitors, who seemed unaware of what was about to happen.

At least she knew what the catch was now.

Emma began moving forward more urgently now, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Get out of here," she called out, pushing the person in front of her to move faster. "Get into the house!"

* * *

The guard stood next to Randolph, carrying a torch made of wood. A piece of material was wrapped around its top and it had been dipped in oil.

"My Lord, shall we give them more time to move into the house?"

Randolph shook his head and gestured to the entrance with a grim hint of a smile.

"They've had enough time. Now, they need to move a little faster. Or use all of their skill, whatever that may be. Light it," he said.

The guard lit the torch and moved forward slowly.

* * *

_Whoom!_

The sound of fire igniting the oil-covered walls of the entrance was unmistakable. Almost immediately, a scream sounded from the other side of the entryway and panic broke out. As far as Emma had been able to tell, there had only been one room on that side. Whoever was trapped there would have to jump through the fire to get to the other part of the house.

Emma stood in the dim light of the first room, her neck twisting as she let her eyes cover every square foot of the room in an initial assessment. There appeared to be no oil past the entrance, which meant the fire wouldn't engulf the house too quickly for them to complete the challenge. The house was made of stone, which Emma hoped would make it burn more slowly. But, there would probably be plenty of flammable material in the walls and ceilings, wooden rafters and such. Not to mention wooden furniture.

Most of the other competitors had rushed past her with the first of the screams, heading deeper into the house in what appeared to be a semi-panicked and poorly thought-out plan of running around haphazardly to grab at anything as quickly as possible. But, in her experience of finding things, being thorough and methodical didn't have to mean slow. So, she would go room by room if she had to, assessing and dismissing objects until she found one unmistakably suitable for the challenge. She would worry about the fire as it came. Emma knew that by the time she had searched the house, there would more than likely be no way out through the front entrance. She just hoped there was another way.

The first room appeared to be some kind of lounge room. She didn't know what they would call such a room in the Dark Ages or Middle Ages or whatever time they were in. A parlour? No, that sounded like some kind of room where ladies sat pampering themselves. Large sheets covered what Emma assumed were couches or armchairs, but the other furniture was uncovered. A few large cabinets stood along the walls and Emma walked quickly past them, scanning inside to inspect their contents. There was a lot of elaborately decorated china, but Emma dismissed it immediately. It was probably expensive, but hardly something Randolph would consider valuable.

Emma suddenly realised she was squinting as her eyes started to burn. Smoke was starting to find its way further into the house already, which meant that flames would not be far behind. She looked up at the ceiling, wondering how long it would take for the fire to get into the roof. Once that happened, time would start running out very quickly.

There was nothing in this room worth getting smoke inhalation for. She turned and headed for the door.

She stood in the doorway. Directly in front of her was a flight of stairs. She looked up and down the passageway, covering her mouth with her arm as smoke drifted by. She strode forward and took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top quickly. She moved into the nearest room, almost colliding with a startled woman rushing by with some kind of shiny object in her arms. Emma tried to get a look, but the woman shielded it in her arms, protecting it like a trophy. She averted her eyes from Emma's and headed towards the stairs.

Someone was finished already.

Emma shook her head and walked into the room. It looked like a bedroom. It was small and Emma guessed it had belonged to a child, judging by the pattern of the bedspread and the line of dolls sitting on a chest at the foot of the bed. Still, the austerity of the furniture didn't exactly make it child-friendly.

A noise halted her footsteps. She cocked her head to the side, checking if another competitor had rushed by, but there were no close sounds from outside the room. She heard the noise again and relaxed slightly. Someone had sneezed quietly.

From somewhere inside the room.

Emma's eyes took in the room empty of people but for herself. Which meant whoever it was had hidden themselves in here. Why would one of the competitors want to hide? If they had any thoughts of hiding until everyone left, that was a foolish plan. When only seven competitors emerged, Randolph would send someone looking.

No, a competitor wouldn't hide. So, who was concealing themselves in here? Emma moved toward the wardrobe and placed her hand on the doorknob. She gripped it, steeled herself and wrenched the door open.

She was greeted by musty, old clothes which probably hadn't been worn in years. Letting her hand drop from the door, Emma turned and looked at the remaining furniture. The large chest at the end of the bed would hold someone, but nobody could hide themselves inside then place the dolls along the top. There were two sets of drawers, which couldn't possibly contain a person.

Which left the bed.

Emma walked over and stood by it, listening. There was no sound now and she quietly knelt down next to the bed. There was a valance hiding the space beneath the bed and she gathered it in her hand, lifting it up to look. She squinted in the dark until a shape became apparent.

"Hello?" she whispered.

There was a slight scuffle and the shape moved further away.

"Who are you?"

Emma was shocked. The voice sounded like that of a small child, certainly younger than any of the other competitors.

"My name is Emma. What's your name?"

The figure didn't answer, nor did it move away any further. Emma tried a different approach, her mind ever aware of the need to keep moving. Whoever this was, she couldn't leave them though.

"I'm looking for something. Maybe you could help me?" She allowed the valance to drop and stood up, moving back from the bed and waited. After a few short moments and some scuffling, a figure emerged from the other side of the bed.

A boy, no more than seven or eight.

"Hello," Emma said. "I'm looking for something really special, like something made of gold or something really expensive. Do you live in this house?"

The boy shook his head.

"I'm hiding," he said shyly.

Emma edged to the door, needing both to keep moving and to get this child to follow her. He couldn't stay here, not when the house would eventually be engulfed.

"Who are you hiding from?" she asked.

The boy stepped around the bed and ran a few steps toward her.

"Everyone. The bad people," he replied.

Emma made a face.

"The bad people? Do you think I'm one of the bad people?"

The boy appeared to study her for a moment. Then, he shook his head.

"No. You're really pretty," he said.

Emma almost laughed at his equating 'good' with 'pretty.' Perhaps it was to her good fortune that she was, as he said, pretty.

"You didn't tell me your name," she said as she stood in the doorway and looked out.

"It's Philip," he said, now standing beside her. He peered out into the corridor. "Are you hiding from the bad people too?"

_If he only knew..._

"Kind of. But, I need to find something really valuable. Do you want to help me look?"

The boy nodded his head vigorously and Emma was relieved, if a little disturbed, at his easy acquiescence. She led him into the passage, toward the next room. The door was ajar and Emma pushed it open. Another bedroom.

"Philip, is this your house?"

He gave her a look of disbelief.

"Of course not. My house is much bigger than this!"

Emma nodded thoughtfully. _Lucky I don't have to search his house then._

"Where's your house then?" she asked, keeping the conversation light as she began walking around the room. There was a beautiful candelabra sitting on a chest of drawers and she reached out a hand to touch it. It appeared to be made of silver and looked more impressive than anything she'd seen so far.

"Not far," Philip replied. His nose wrinkled and he looked at the floor. "What's that smell?"

Emma picked up the candelabra and turned to face the boy. She debated how much to tell him. Telling him might totally freak him out, yet not telling him could bite her in the ass later. The fact that they could smell smoke up here told her the fire was on the move. She didn't want to have to try finding a way out from the top floor, which meant they needed to get moving. She gripped the candelabra harder. Having this took the pressure off. She would do a quick search of the rest of the top floor. But, first she needed to know...

"Philip, is there more than one set of stairs in this house?"

Philip frowned and scratched his chin. Then, his eyes lit up.

"There might be some stairs for the servants!" he exclaimed, his face lit up with pride at his knowledge of such potentially useful information.

Emma nodded and knelt down in front of him.

"Ok. Philip, I want you to listen carefully. I'm a prisoner of the bad people. They brought me to this house and said I had to find something for them. We have to be quick because there's a fire downstairs, but I'm going to get us out of here and you can go home. Do you understand?"

Philip nodded, wide-eyed.

"He said someone would find me."

Emma frowned.

"Who said?"

Philip looked at the ground.

"I'm not supposed to say."

Emma regarded him for a moment, before standing and reaching out her hand. He looked at it and then reached up, placing his hand in hers. She moved them quickly to the door and out of the room. In the passage ahead, she saw a couple of dark shapes moving quickly. There were still competitors up here.

For now.

* * *

She barely heard the sound of paper hitting the floor of the cell. Snow turned her head a little, her eyes drifting down from the small opening in the door to the small scrap lying on the ground. She reached up a hand and let it drift across her cheek, wiping at the moisture there. She had tried to hold her emotions in check for as long as possible. But, the waiting was just too long. There was nothing to distract her from all sorts of horrific scenarios where Emma didn't return. Snow tried to give herself strength by remembering that Emma had already been in the situation she now found herself in.

But, perhaps she wasn't able to close off her feelings as well as her daughter. Or maybe she just didn't want to.

Snow stood slowly and walked over, picking up the piece of paper. Returning to her position by the wall, she sat cross-legged, taking a deep breath as she carefully unfolded the paper, glancing at the door from time to time, as if the guards would hear the slightest crinkle of paper and charge in to take it from her. She set it on the ground in front of her, smoothing it out with the palm of her hand. She bent over the page to read.

_Large house to find valuable item._

_House on fire._

_One dead. Not E._

_Don't give up hope._

_L._

She stared at the words for long moments, almost unable to take them in. They passed through her eyes and into her brain to take up residence, but her mind was rejecting them.

And then they seemed to come at her with a rush.

Emma was inside a burning house which had already claimed one life.

Right at this moment, her daughter was fighting smoke and flame and who knew what else in order to stay alive.

Snow tried to choke back a sob, but it escaped her mouth anyway in a kind of strangled gasp. Lifting her eyes to the door again, she placed a hand over her mouth, her vision of the door blurring as water welled and spilled over from her eyes. Snow bit her top lip, pressing down with her teeth to stop her chin from trembling.

She was helpless here. Utterly helpless. She hadn't felt like this since...

Since she had watched David leave their bedchamber with Emma in his arms. Since she had cradled David's unconscious body to hers as Regina stood over them, promising somewhere horrible.

Snow stared at the words that Lancelot had risked bringing to her.

_Not E._

_Not E._

_Not E..._

* * *

Emma and Philip made their way through the remaining rooms on the second level, sweeping through, assessing and rejecting items. The candelabra remained the most valuable looking thing she'd seen.

"Are we going downstairs now?" Philip asked when they reached the end of the passageway. Ahead stood a narrow flight of stairs, much smaller than the ones she'd ascended at the front of the house.

"Yep," Emma confirmed. She squeezed his hand to draw his attention. "Be careful. It might be getting a little hot down there and smoky too. If the smoke gets really bad, cover your face like this..." She reached up an arm and covered the lower half of her face with it. "Ok?"

Philip nodded and together, they descended the staircase. They were only halfway down when the smoke started stinging their eyes and burning their lungs. Emma pushed the boy behind her as she stepped off the stairs. She peered through squinted eyes down the corridor. The smoke hung in the air, floating lazily into and out of the rooms. Beyond that, she could see flickering light coming from several of the rooms and guessed those rooms could no longer be accessed. She wondered briefly if someone with magic could walk through fire.

She turned back to Philip.

"Philip, is there a second door? Another way out of this house?"

The boy pointed at the smoky gloom.

"There's a door in the kitchen," he replied, coughing a little. "But the fire's there."

Emma set her mouth in a grim line.

"Then we'll just have to find another way," she said, pulling him off the stairs and towards the nearest room. Again, it looked like a lounge room. Drawing room? That sounded like the name of a room from a Jane Austen novel. Definitely not the Dark Ages. Emma stopped short, gripping Philip's hand tightly.

A woman stood by the window, sobbing.

Emma looked down at Philip and gestured for him to go stand by the wall on the other side of the room. She turned to the woman and walked slowly towards her.

"Hey."

The woman looked up, not ceasing her crying, and took in Emma and Philip. And then the silver object in Emma's hand.

"We're all doomed," she whispered shakily. "We're all going to die."

Emma shook her head.

"No, we're not," she said firmly. She beckoned with her hand. "Come with us. We'll help you. We'll find something for you and then we'll find a way out. Together." Strangely, it was at that moment that Mary Margaret popped into her head. She thought of how Mary Margaret had heard the drowning man and been unable to block her ears to his pleas for help, a decision which had almost cost her dearly. Was she making the same mistake now? It hadn't even occurred to her until just then that by bringing Philip along with her and now offering to help this woman, she might be hammering the nails into her own coffin.

She shook her head again. No, this was different. It didn't matter who came first this time. It only mattered that she not leave this house empty-handed. And she wasn't.

She beckoned again.

"Come with us," she repeated.

The woman's sobs had subsided momentarily and she sniffled slightly, turning to face Emma. Emma moved forward, smiling softly.

The woman suddenly lunged at Emma. Her hand reached out and struck Emma's cheek with a stinging slap and Emma's head turned to the side at the surprising strength of the strike. Off balance, she barely registered the candelabra being wrenched from her hand.

"Hey," she shouted, "That's mine!"

The woman, clutching her prize, ran for the door without even a backward glance and disappeared into the corridor.

_You idiot!_

Emma stood in the middle of the room, mouth gaping. Was she that out of practice at reading people? Had the whole crying thing been an act? If so, it had been a masterful performance. But, Emma couldn't quite believe that. Those tears had been real. Emma thought it was more a case of opportunism born of desperation.

She stared at her now empty hands. There was nothing to be done about it now.

_Crap._

Emma looked across at Philip, who looked terrified. She then took a quick look around the room and wasn't surprised by the woman's hopelessness. There was nothing in here that would be considered valuable. A few items on tables had been overturned, leading Emma to assume a number of the other competitors had already been through and taken whatever had been of value.

She had to keep moving. _They_ had to keep moving. The fire was creeping ever closer and she was running out of time to get to any of the rooms further up the corridor. Emma reached out her arm and beckoned Philip to join her, which he did quickly.

"Cover your face," she urged, folding his arm at the elbow and lifting it so that it concealed as much of his face as possible. As they stepped out into the corridor, she felt a rush of warmth and turned her face away from it, pulling Philip with her toward another room. That damn candelabra! Why hadn't she held onto it more tightly? She would have fought the woman over it, as barbaric as that sounded. She would have wrenched the woman's arms this way and that in order to keep what she had known was her ticket to safety. But, she had been completely blindsided and that just made it worse. That just made her angry.

Emma looked up to see flames licking the ceiling of the passageway from the front of the house where they had all come in, right to where she was standing. Gritting her teeth, she charged into the next room, letting go of the boy's hand to take a quick tour. Upon quick inspection of a promising-looking cabinet, she saw empty spaces where items had been removed. She thumped the glass in frustration and wiped tears which were falling down her cheeks from the stinging smoke.

"Emma, hurry!" Philip called from the door and she whipped her head around to see him peeking around the doorway outside the room.

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Time suddenly seemed to be speeding up.

She ran to the door and out of the room, half turning to make sure Philip was following. The flames were eating at the doorway of the last room they could possibly check. If there was nothing in here, she had no idea what she would do.

They burst into what appeared to be some sort of old version of a games room. To keep as much smoke out as possible, Emma grabbed the heavy wooden door and swung it shut, the bang as it closed causing Philip to jump. They stared around the room. A billiard table dominated the space and a large table which was surrounded by chairs could have been used for cards. Aside from some bookshelves and large chests-they seemed to be heavily into chests, whoever they were,-she spotted a liquor cabinet, now empty of alcohol. That was something of a relief, considering what was shortly going to cause this house to come crashing down.

From somewhere nearby, Emma heard the sound of exploding glass. The fire was causing the windows to start shattering.

"Emma!"

Emma stared at the door as the flames licked at it, rising higher and higher until they were creeping up the wall and into the ceiling above. Once they hit the wooden beams on the other side, it would be all over within minutes.

She had minutes.

Her eyes scanned the room, looking for another door, another way out.

But, the house was too far gone. To escape from this room would be to simply walk into the flames outside in the hallway.

They were trapped here. She and Philip. The only two left in the house, it would seem. And now there were suddenly way too many things to think about. Getting out of here alive was the most pressing. Getting herself and Philip out without being scorched beyond recognition was the next. And then there was the small matter of the fact that she still didn't have any kind of valuable object, let alone one that Randolph would consider valuable enough to keep her in the game. Her lip curled in disgust at the word 'game.' And in the back of her mind was the one thing never far away from her thoughts.

Mary Margaret.

Her own experience told her how lonely and agonising the hours would be for her mother. Of how she would be starting at every sound, every set of footsteps, wondering if the door to her cell would be opened and they would ask her to accompany them outside. Mary Margaret would know instantly what that would mean.

She couldn't let that happen. She hadn't looked for Mary Margaret her whole life just to die in a burning room after having only the barest of moments together.

Emma gripped hold of Philip's shoulder more tightly as she looked behind and above them. The sun shone through a small window at about head-height. Emma looked across the room at a table, her last-ditch plan coming together even as she pushed Philip forward into the gathering smoke.

"Ok, Philip, we're going grab that table and drag it over to the window," she said firmly as they crossed the room. The boy immediately moved to the other side of the table and grabbed the top of it with two small hands. Emma smiled at him briefly and took hold of the other side. "One. Two. Three!" Together they lifted and began shuffling across the room, smoke stinging their eyes and irritating their lungs. They brought the table under the window and Emma quickly jumped up onto the table, looking down and gesturing to a chair. "Pass me that chair!"

The boy obeyed and Emma grabbed the offered chair, holding it by its back as she studied the window. She widened her stance, bracing herself as she swung the chair at the glass. It shattered on impact, the glass exploding outward at her effort. She dropped the chair, lifting her leg and kicking the remaining pieces of glass out of the frame while waving Philip up with her left hand.

"C'mon kid!"

Philip scrambled up onto the table and Emma pushed him by the scruff of the neck. He took hold of the window ledge and she all but manhandled him out the window, craning her neck to see that he had landed safely.

Thank goodness they had been downstairs.

Philip stood up and turned around, beckoning her to follow.

"Emma! Hurry!" he called out, pointing up at the house. "The roof is caving in!"

Emma nodded.

"Just a sec. I need..." She didn't have time to explain. Jumping off the table she cast a final, desperate glance around the room.

Something valuable.

Something worth a lot of money.

Something gold. Or silver. It didn't have to be the winning choice. It just couldn't be the losing one. Running over to a chest, she covered her face with her arm, blinking away the burn and sting of the smoke and heat. She lifted the lid on the chest and stared inside, rummaging through the items therein.

What did people find valuable here? Would a gold goblet be enough? She reached in and pulled it out, turning it over and inspecting every inch of it.

Now was not the time to be indecisive. A loud bang from above reinforced her own thoughts. It was gold. It had what appeared to be jewels encrusted around the sides. If she tried to pawn it back in Boston, she'd get a fair amount for it.

It would have to do.

She almost laughed.

She was basing her whole future around 'it would have to do?' She was putting her relationship with her mother on the line for 'it would have to do?'

A loud groaning, creaking from above made the decision for her and Emma slammed the lid shut and ran back to the table. Hopping up, she clutched the goblet in one hand as she moved over to the window. She tossed the cup outside and hoisted herself up onto the ledge. The sound of falling debris was the last thing she heard as she leaped out of the house onto the ground outside. She rolled a couple of times before coming to a stop beside Philip. They stared up at the house which was by now completely consumed by fire. The heat made sweat trickle in thin lines down Emma's face and she stood up, grabbing Philip and moving backwards to where the heat was not quite so intense.

As Emma continued gazing at the flames, Philip gestured at the gold cup in her hand.

"What's that?" he asked.

Emma looked down at the object in her hand.

"My last chance," she replied.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Greetings Mexicans and those random people from Trinidad and Tobago!**

**A/N2 I think I allowed the crapness of my own life over the past few weeks to influence the direction this chapter went. So I apologise if you finish this chapter feeling utterly depressed!**

Chapter 11 

The guards came towards her.

They had caught sight of her the moment she jumped from the window. Emma knelt on the grass next to the house, not quite sure what she was waiting for, clutching the blasted goblet and staring up at the burning building. Her hair blew gently around her face, strands sticking to the sweat on her cheeks. Right at that moment, she could hear only the crackling and snapping of burning debris. And her own wheezing breath.

She was usually pretty good at handling...situations...but, not for the first time since she'd come to this strange and terrible land, Emma felt the full realisation of how ill-equipped she really was to deal with everything going on.

Everything inside that prison cell that involved the person who was, even now, waiting for her.

Every moment she herself had waited there.

Every stumbling, confusing moment she'd run, been tied up, trapped, threatened, almost set on fire.

And now...

She turned her eyes back to the boy who didn't seem all that surprised or afraid to be here. Who, as she knelt there stupidly, jumped up and ran to the guards.

"Emma found me," she heard him say. "Does that mean she wins? She can't be one of the bad people if she wins."

_The bad people..._

_I'm hiding from the bad people..._

_He said someone would find me..._

_I'm not supposed to say..._

She could suddenly swear she'd left her mental capacity back in Storybrooke. Or maybe, somehow, the wraith had stolen it from her as they were swept into the portal. Maybe it meant to take her soul and missed, sucking her brains out instead.

_She_ was one of Philip's 'bad people.'

She stubbornly refused to let go of the gold goblet. Letting go of the goblet would mean having to grasp onto something that was far too hot to touch.

That Randolph had willingly put the boy in that house with the full knowledge of what would happen inside. That the possibility existed that he would burn with the rest of the old house.

How many other Philips had there been?

She suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Or lean forward and push her face into the grass and bang at the ground with her fists.

Yes, she wanted to vomit and then stand up, walk over to that son of a bitch and stab him through the neck with a piece of the shattered glass lying around her, sparkling in the daylight.

"Where's Uncle? I want to show him who found me."

Emma blinked at the words and turned her head slowly. She felt a bead of sweat run down her back, but she felt freezing.

No.

Surely not.

_Uncle._

A random child was bad enough. But this...?

She quickly turned her head back, breathing hard and blinking back the moisture in her eyes. She couldn't comprehend, could she?

But, she could...

Her only memories of family were of disinterest, apathy and mild tolerance. Memories of nights when she would curl up under the bedcovers and whisper into the darkness as hot rivers of tears ran down her young face. Before she had toughened the hell up. When she would ask anybody-_anybody_- who might be listening out there in the dark somewhere to please give her somebody who would love her. Times when she would wonder _why_ and _how could they_ and _had she been so very bad_?

Eventually, she had learned to no longer bother asking those questions. Nobody could answer them, she least of all. The hole that had been torn through her had never left, even all these years later. They were a stain on her heart, dulled somewhat by time, but never completely gone.

But, that somehow seemed nothing compared to the stories she'd heard and some of the things she'd seen in others during her time in foster care.

Welts left by anger, the imprints so deep, sometimes making it possible to tell exactly what had been used to make them. Belts, tools, hands.

Hollow eyes created by unspeakable acts exacted on people far too young to know that it should be different than this. Better than this.

No, she had never suffered quite like that, but each person's scars burned, no matter the events that had caused them.

It seemed that no matter what world she was in, children could still be treated in the most abominable ways.

She was reaching forward to grab the piece of jagged glass before she could think about it. Her jaw was clenched so tight, she couldn't have spoken a word. It was almost painful. At that moment, there wasn't enough pain in the world to dull the fury sparking every synapse of her being.

"You. Up."

She didn't look at the guard as he moved to stand above her, only robotically stood to her feet and allowed him to escort her round to the other side of the house where a group was waiting. There were six competitors standing there, in various states of dishevelment and shock.

Wait.

Six?

There should have been seven. Emma herself made the eighth.

It wasn't until she almost reached the group that she saw it. The body was lying a few metres behind them, covered with a sheet. Feet stuck out from underneath with what looked like the Enchanted Forest's version of a work boot. Emma's eyes darted across the faces of the others, narrowing slightly as she spotted the woman who had stolen the candelabra from her. Her mind reeled, trying to guess who it was that lay dead beneath the...

_He barely looked out of junior high..._

A boy.

Just a few years older than Henry.

She felt the guard prod her to join the group and took a couple of slow, staggering steps, her eyes glued to the sheet. They stung, but it was no longer because of the smoke or the fire.

Memories unbidden, unwanted, uninvited, crept into her mind.

She remembered another boy in another place...

She'd said goodbye to him as he left their group home to go live with a foster family. She'd been thirteen, with the stirrings of a first crush. It had been so bittersweet to farewell him, but having something that passed for family seemed better than where they were. How could she begrudge him that chance?

She herself had given up on the concept of family long before then.

She had said goodbye on a Thursday afternoon and felt strangely sad for days afterward.

A few months later, he was dead.

They had said it was a tragic accident. The father had fallen asleep in front of the TV (the cynic in her imagined he had passed out from too much cheap beer). He had been smoking. He, his wife and the boy had all gone up in flames.

The final bricks in her wall had been laid that day...

Emma blinked and tore her eyes away from the shroud. She felt the glass in her hand digging into her flesh as she watched Randolph survey the group. Philip was now beside him.

"Which one of you is Emma?" he called out, an eyebrow raised in interest.

Again, she felt the prod in her back and stepped forward. She kept her face blank as Randolph approached her.

"My nephew tells me you found him and brought him out of the house," Randolph addressed her.

She nodded once. He deserved no words from her. If she opened her mouth, any words that came from within would end in her own demise, she knew that.

"You chose wisely," Randolph remarked and he raised his voice so the whole group could hear. "For you have selected something very dear to me." He reached down and ruffled Philip's hair. "My sister's boy is my favourite nephew." He smirked and Emma felt the bile rise again in her throat. "Gold and silver trinkets are nice. But, what could be more precious than a child?"

She felt the glass cut open her skin as she clenched it tightly. Felt the warm liquid of her blood slide across her fingers.

One decent lunge forward.

One brief slash would open his neck.

And his blood would gush out and down to the ground like a river.

She might even have done it too. At another time, when she was young and all she had was herself and who cared about her anyway? What could they have done to her? Put her in juvenile detention until she was 18? But, this was an alien place, the place where she had been born. She could murder Randolph in some kind of righteous revenge attack. And then, they would grab her and cut her throat. Or string her up by the neck until her body twitched with some final, instinctive throes of self-preservation.

She didn't want Mary Margaret's last memory of her to be that of a murderer.

She didn't want to give her a last memory at all.

There could only be one outcome to all this. There could only be another reunion in their cell. Another night of wordlessly gripping each other's hands. Of staring into wide eyes, trying to understand what the hell was going on. Of disjointed sentences, attempting to convey cruelty and horror that couldn't be spoken, of drowning and burning men.

Emma knew she was living now only for that moment. Storybrooke was gone. Henry was gone. Boston was gone. Being the Saviour, a dragon-slayer, a curse-breaker. It was all gone.

In a swirling tornado of confusion and memories and hurt, that one word penetrated her fury and revulsion. Her anguish and turmoil.

Mother.

She was angry her parents had sent her away all those years ago. She was bewildered at the risk they had taken. She was bitter at how she'd been cheated. She felt guilty for finding it so hard to understand their decision.

_Mother._

Despite the inner agony, Emma's face was still blank. She was a pro.

Yet, inside she was screaming.

She dropped the goblet onto the ground. Randolph glanced at it, made some comment about her needing insurance and moved on. It was her own walls closing in on her as she half heard him address the other competitors one at a time, evaluating their offered objects and throwing scathing comments in return. She tried to take her mind elsewhere as she heard the inevitable sudden sobs and a chanted mantra of "please, please, please." The struggle as a dark-haired woman was pulled away, never to be seen again. She remembered the look on Mary Margaret's face and realised that witnessing murder was the first thing they would ever share. There was no way on this earth she could let it be the last.

_Mom._

She knelt down slowly as if to pick up the goblet and opened her other hand, releasing the glass now sticky with her blood. She stood, her legs automatically moving her with the group back to the wagon which had brought them here.

Emma had become, however briefly, something she hadn't been in twenty years or more.

A child who wanted her mother.

And for the first time in her life...

That's exactly who she was going to get.

* * *

The procession.

The air thick with horror and tension and uncertainty.

Snow stared through the small space in the door. A pair of guards marched past and it almost took her by surprise when she saw Emma's face almost immediately.

Emma's face.

Her heart clenched so painfully in sympathy that she didn't even have time to feel relieved that her daughter had returned. Whether she had intended to hide it or not, Emma's eyes practically shouted her despair. She looked almost child-like, lost, disoriented.

Snow stood back.

The door opened and Emma was half-shoved inside their cell. She turned her head, her hair falling in a curtain to hide her face as she watched the door close and the key turn in the lock. Slowly, she faced Snow.

"Emma," Snow whispered. Her first instinct was to fling her arms around her daughter and shut out the world, but she hesitated. She had so many doubts about what Emma wanted from her. She wanted to give Emma the chance she needed to work that out. So, here and now, she waited for Emma to decide.

Emma took a step forward, her eyes glassy. She said nothing for long moments and Snow imagined by the clenching of her jaw that she was fighting some kind of internal battle. Against what, Snow didn't know, nor did she know which part of Emma would win out.

Snow waited still. Finally, after interminable moments of yawning silence and dripping water and mumbled, rumbling voices from beyond their cell, Emma's mouth opened.

"I didn't think I would want to do this," she said hoarsely. "I didn't think I would ever want this."

Snow frowned as Emma took another step forward. Do what? Her daughter stepped forward again, by now within arm's length. And then, Emma was reaching forward, her arms encircling Snow, pressing herself against her, sinking into her.

Snow wrapped her arms around Emma, stunned. There had been several brief moments when Emma had revealed a little of her inner longing, had allowed some truth within her heart to emerge. Had let Snow keep her close. But, to walk straight into her arms in this way in such a willing surrender...

Part of her just wanted to hold on tighter.

The other part wanted to tear asunder whoever had done this to her daughter.

They stood for long moments. Snow moved her hand up and down Emma's back, saying nothing. She ran her fingers through Emma's limp, greasy hair. Listened to the soft sound of her breathing. Felt the warmth of her body, squeezing tighter as the occasional shiver wracked her.

"Emma?" she finally asked quietly, pulling back to look at Emma's face.

Emma attempted a smile, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles.

"I won," she whispered harshly, a thin line of tears sliding down her cheek. "I won." Her lips twisted and her eyes squeezed shut. She tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth, inhaling a shaky breath. She held in more tears, more sobs until she again had to open her mouth to take in another breath.

Snow held her by the arms, knowing all too well the pain, the guilt, the anguish Emma was feeling.

"I wanted to kill him," Emma suddenly hissed, stepping back and brushing her face impatiently, unknowingly wiping semi-dried blood across her cheek. She took great gulping breaths as Snow stepped forward and took her hand, holding it palm up to inspect the jagged cut.

Snow gently tugged Emma toward the wall where they seemed to have permanently set up camp. They sat and Snow pulled a bowl of water given by the guards to place in front of her. She set Emma's open hand down on her own leg and dipped a corner of her cardigan into the water.

"Let me clean this," she said softly. "We don't want it to get infected."

Snow focused on the wound in front of her, unaware of Emma's eyes glued to her face. Using the soaked material of her cardigan, she gently dabbed and wiped at the blood congealing around the cut. Emma's hand jerked a couple of times, but Snow continued on, occasionally resoaking the material, eventually revealing the cut to not be quite as bad as she had thought.

"It sucked."

Snow raised her eyes to Emma's face.

"What?" she asked softly.

Emma swallowed hard and met her eyes.

"Foster care. It sucked."

Snow suddenly found it hard to get a decent breath. She knew Emma must have seen her chest rise and fall deeply.

"You can...tell me about it," she whispered. "I want you to share it all with me."

Her eyes never left Emma's face as she listened. For the next hour, interspersed with her broken recount of the challenge, Emma haltingly revealed the true and merciless consequences of Snow and David's decision to send her away. Snow felt a gamut of emotions; relief that Emma had never been abused, a crushing ache at her loneliness, sadness at the walls her daughter had built to protect herself, anger at her caretaker's inability or unwillingness to take care of her, to love and cherish her. Regret, always regret at their choice. And a colossal determination she had never felt before, that anything standing in the way of their being together would surely crumble in the face of her wrath.

At some point, Snow didn't know when, she had stopped tending to Emma's hand and simply covered it with her own.

"Who didn't make it?" Snow finally asked, bringing them back to the present.

"Some young kid," Emma choked out, practically spitting the words in abhorrence. "Burned up. In the end, he never had a chance. We all stood alone in there. Like you. Like that guy in the river. Like Philip." She shrugged a shoulder, shaking her head as, even now, it was unthinkable. "Randolph doesn't give a crap about that kid. He was going to let him die for this game. He didn't care. He just didn't care." Her fingers suddenly clenched around Snow's painfully.

Snow clenched back, her eyes searching Emma's face.

"That was me," Emma whispered. "I didn't have anyone to protect me. Nobody...nobody loved _me_." She covered her eyes with one hand, her shoulders starting to shake.

Snow raised herself to her knees, letting go of Emma's hand and placing her own either side of Emma's head. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to her daughter's sweaty, sooty forehead.

Emma sighed.

"You will live the rest of your life knowing that will never be true ever again," Snow said.

"I know," Emma whispered. "That's why I came back."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Thanks as always for reading and for your encouragement. Special hellos to the British and Portugese :)**

Chapter 12 

Emma cupped the bowl in her hands and stared down into it intently. She narrowed her eyes in order to focus her vision. After a moment, the shadow of Mary Margaret's head appeared in her line of sight.

"Well?" her mother asked.

Emma shifted slightly so her line of sight was clear once more.

"Just a sec," she replied and, holding the bowl in one hand, she reached up with the other and poked at the contents of the bowl with her index finger, squinting to catch any movement from within the gruel-like substance. Finally, she nodded once, seemingly satisfied. "I think we may be about to have our first maggot-free meal."

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow and lifted up her own bowl, scraping a third of its contents into Emma's.

"This bit is clean too. Might as well share from the same bowl."

Alternately dipping their spoons into the bowl, the two women ate silently as they sat on the grimy ground of their cell. Emma had given Mary Margaret a boost up to the window a short time ago and she had guessed it to be sometime in the afternoon, judging by the position of the sun and its warmth. Time seemed to lose some of its meaning in the tense hours of waiting.

The corridor outside the cells had been quiet for some time now. Both women took that as a sign that something would happen soon. It had been almost a day since Emma had returned from her challenge and they were restless.

Restless and emotionally exhausted.

"_You will live the rest of your life knowing that will never be true ever again."_

"_I know. That's why I came back."_

Emma winced as she shoved another spoonful of highly questionable food into her mouth. She wasn't quite sure what had happened yesterday. Her feelings kept oscillating so wildly between anger and confusion and, dare she say it, hope.

Anger at this damned competition. Anger at the senseless deaths, the horror, the fear. Anger at things done long ago and unchangeable now.

Confusion at the choices people could make. And their conflicting consequences that, twenty-eight years later, had been both bitterly cruel and infinitely precious.

And hope. For a future that could be so much brighter than what had come before.

She had asked brutally honest, probing questions. Maybe she'd meant to be aggressive, attacking, perhaps even unkind. Or maybe she'd simply been hoping for an answer that made sense, if there was indeed any sense to be found at all.

"_Why didn't you want to keep me with you? We could have been together, even with the curse."_

Mary Margaret had sat very still for a long time, her shoulders slumped, her eyes suddenly weary and full of a sadness and regret that Emma hadn't really seen before. Or maybe hadn't looked for.

"_We talked about everything, David and I. We consulted all our most trusted friends and advisors. The dwarves, Granny, the Blue Fairy, everyone. Once it was decided that the only way to escape the curse was to leave the realm altogether, I was going to go with you. You and I, we were going together."_

That had been news to Emma.

"_Geppetto carved a wardrobe from the last enchanted tree in the forest. The wardrobe and its magic only had enough power to protect one person, so I was to go through the wardrobe before you were born and I would take care of you until we could break the curse."_

Her mother had agreed to go through a portal to who knew where, leaving everyone and everything she knew. Leaving her husband. Her title. Her protection. She had planned to be with Emma all along. The words _'you're my choice' _seemed to reverberate through her mind.

"_But, you came early and we had so little time to decide. To choose."_

Emma hadn't wanted to, but she had found herself thinking. Wondering. What would she have done? When faced with an impossible choice, what path would she have taken?

She thought of her own choice, all those years ago. The moment she'd held the positive pregnancy test in her hand in that jail cell, the agony of decision had all but crushed her. But, the day she'd handed over the tiny little baby she'd known it was the best thing to do. The hardest, the most heart-breaking, the most hollow, but the best.

Their two situations couldn't really be compared. But, Emma had seen the look in Mary Margaret's eyes enough by now. That far-off look that spoke of a grief still raw. The grief of a decision that could never be unmade. Of what could have been. It was in the way her eyes softened when she looked at Emma. The way she understood when Emma spoke of anger and frustration. The way she didn't need to say anything at all at times, simply taking Emma's hand and letting her presence, her very being, speak all the words for her.

No, their situations couldn't really be compared. And yet, they were beginning to understand each other anyway.

And Emma was beginning to see how strong her mother really was. And what she would do for Emma.

And now they were here. Together. And Emma's friend, Mary Margaret, was gone. And the person in her place was someone quite different.

And possibly even better.

"What are you thinking about?" Mary Margaret asked curiously, snapping Emma out of her reverie.

Emma dropped her spoon into the bowl and sat back.

"I was wondering what's coming next," she lied, not wanting the weight of another emotional conversation. "What do you think the final challenge will be?"

Mary Margaret placed the bowl on the ground beside her and sighed, frowning thoughtfully.

"Knowing Randolph, it will probably be something we can't prepare for," she replied. "But, at least we'll be together. Lancelot said we'd need magic, which we don't have, but I don't know if that means we'll need magic to get through the challenge or only at the very end."

Emma chewed her lip thoughtfully.

"You said you thought Lancelot helped you with your challenge," she mused. "Do you think he'll help us again?"

Mary Margaret nodded without hesitation.

"I've no doubt he will if he can," she replied. "If we need weapons, he'll make sure we get them. If there's information on how to complete whatever's coming, he'll make sure we have it. I trust him."

Emma nodded slowly. She couldn't claim to have the same feelings about the knight as her mother, but if Mary Margaret trusted Lancelot, that had to be good enough.

"He seemed pretty thrilled that you ended up with a kid," she said, picking at a random thread on her jacket.

Mary Margaret smiled, her eyes full of memories.

"He knew even before your father," she replied. Her smile faded as she remembered. "I thought King George had won. That he had got his revenge on us and taken away our chance to have a child. I had never felt so hollow inside as I did at that moment." She blinked rapidly before continuing. "I was prepared to tell David, to break the news. But, he was holding a necklace that predicted whether your child would be a girl or a boy, and suddenly it started moving. David was overjoyed. He was, of course, predicting a boy, but I knew which direction the necklace was moving." Her lips twisted into a small smile as she locked eyes with Emma.

Emma bit the inside of her lip at the intensity of the look and cleared her throat.

"Wh-why did you tell Lancelot?" she asked.

"Because I realised he and David's mother had conspired to save our future. And yours." Mary Margaret reached forward and squeezed Emma's hand. "He asked and I told him. I wanted David to be surprised, but I needed to share it with someone. It felt like…" She shook her head. "I can't even tell you. But, I know it was one of the happiest moments of my life." She rested her head back against the wall. "Lancelot will always have a special place in my heart."

Movement from outside caused both women to turn their heads. The distinct sound of keys in locks and doors opening could be heard and they stood quickly to their feet, unconsciously moving closer together to await whatever came next.

Mary Margaret turned to Emma.

"We are going to make it," she said, holding lightly onto Emma's arm. "Have faith."

And for the first time, Emma felt like she could.

* * *

The pile of weapons lay on the ground before them. Bows, much like the one Snow had carried during their brief escape into the forest, of varying shapes and sizes. Axes, thick and heavy. Wicked-looking balls with vicious spikes sticking out all over, attached to chains. Spears. Pikes. Knives. And swords, gleaming silver and sharp.

Randolph had stood before them, in front of the entrance to a cave leading into the mountain rising above them. Snow could have sworn his gaze lingered on herself and her daughter a little too long. Had he recognised her after all?

_You will proceed into the labyrinth. You will be tethered together the entire time you are inside. The team which finds its way out of the mountain will be declared the winner._

The team. Not the first team, simply _the_ meant only one team would make it.

The team that had magic.

_You are permitted one weapon each. Choose wisely, as there are many hidden threats within the mountain. I look forward to seeing who emerges…_

So, that was it then. That was how the contestants from past competitions had disappeared without a trace. They were sent into this mountain to wander until they died. Thirst. Starvation. Exhaustion. Or at the hand of one of these 'threats.' Perhaps they would come across the unfortunate remains of other contestants. The bones of the forgotten.

Snow shook her head quickly to rid her mind of the sudden dark thoughts and moved to the pile of weapons. She immediately reached for a bow and a quiver of arrows, shouldering them before turning to Emma. She watched as Emma chewed her lip thoughtfully (nervously?) and rubbed her forehead.

"Quickly!" a guard barked.

Emma bent over and her hand grasped at a sword, lifting it awkwardly with one hand. At Snow's look, she shrugged.

"I killed a dragon with a sword. I'm hoping it wasn't a complete fluke."

They were pointed toward another guard who stepped forward and beckoned with his hand. Emma hesitated and then lifted her arm. The guard grabbed her wrist and fastened a thick bracelet around it, which was attached to a chain. He turned to Snow and she, too, lifted her arm. The lock on her bracelet clicked into place and the guard dropped the chain, leaving Emma and Mary Margaret tethered together. Each woman tested the weight and leverage of the chain, causing it to rattle and clink as it swung around.

Emma pulled it taut, noticing that there was about three feet, give or take, between them.

"Not so bad, I guess," she said, with raised eyebrows.

Snow smiled as reassuringly as she could. Together now, to whatever end.

The guard inclined his head for them to move on and they turned, the chain between them and their weapons held tightly.

They were third in line. Third out of the six pairs remaining. Two of twelve still alive out of the original twenty. Snow recognised Paul in front of them from the brief glimpses she had had of him. They hadn't spoken since that first exchange, which felt like so long ago and Paul hadn't so much as looked at them whenever they had all been together as a group. Snow knew instinctively it wasn't out of spite or a case of bad manners. It wasn't personal.

It couldn't be personal.

One of their teams would have to die in order for the other to have a chance.

Snow spotted Lancelot slowly pacing along the line of competitors. As he approached them, Snow feigned fumbling with her quiver and sent the arrows inside scattering to the ground. Lancelot bent down to help her pick them up.

"Ogres," he muttered as he shoved arrows back into the quiver. "Beware of the ogres." He reached forward and brushed his hand against hers and Snow felt something hard be placed into her palm. Her fingers automatically closed over it. They stood together and Lancelot immediately continued down the line.

Snow hadn't seen an ogre in years. Well, of course it had been years, but even before the curse it had been awhile. Dirty, brutish creatures, they were, hunting by sound and ripping their victims apart. At least if she and Emma were quiet, they had a chance at slipping past them.

She opened her hand slightly and looked inside. Flint! At least they could use it to make a little light, which would stop them stumbling in the dark for too long. Snow watched as another guard handed Emma a fire torch. They could continually relight it, should something unexpected happen to cause it to go out. It wasn't much, but it was something. Light meant everything when you had none.

The mouth of the cave gaped before them. They watched as Paul and his daughter-in-law disappeared inside, the darkness swallowing them whole. The chain dangling between them, Emma and Snow walked forward and into the cave. They were barely metres from the entrance, yet the light had already dimmed considerably.

Emma lifted the torch higher and its light illuminated the dark corners as they looked around. There was one main path stretching ahead of them and the walls pressed upon it either side. It was dank and musty, as if it was the kind of place usually left to animals and travellers sheltering from the rain. Yet, it seemed surprisingly clean, with only stones and other rubble collected along the walls and sitting in little piles.

Snow grasped her bow a little tighter and tugged slightly on the chain around her wrist. Emma looked over and nodded, before stepping forward and leading them with the light as they walked carefully down the path. It led into a larger cavern, eerily silent but for the scuffling of their shoes and the clinking of their chain.

Snow heard movement coming from the far end and watched as Paul's shadow disappeared down a tunnel. He'd chosen his path and Snow's heart felt momentarily heavy, knowing that would be the last time she ever saw him. That he and his daughter-in-law weren't going to make it.

"Which way do you want to go?" Emma asked quietly, gesturing forward into the cavern. Apart from the tunnel Paul had taken, there were three other choices.

Snow nodded toward the first.

"Let's take a look. Perhaps there'll be some kind of indication of safe passage."

They approached the first tunnel and peered into the inky blackness. Snow could just make out an eerie, far-away whispering of air coming from deep inside and she shivered slightly as it passed feather-light over her skin, causing goose-bumps to rise over her arms.

"Where is that coming from?" Emma asked, moving the torch this way and that to try to get some kind of view that wasn't black as pitch. The light seemed to diminish further in the darkness, adverse to its purpose of giving light. "Do you think that means there's a way out somewhere down there? That breeze has to come from somewhere."

Snow shrugged and gestured down the tunnel with an open hand.

"One way to find out," she replied.

Emma led the way again, peering directly forward, her eyes squinting in an attempt to gain better vision. It grew darker still, if that was at all possible. Snow gripped her bow tightly, her eyes darting over the walls and up to the ceiling. She hadn't told Emma about the ogres yet. She probably should. They needed to be prepared for all eventualities.

Snow's eyes drifted down to Emma's back and then down to the ground in front of her. She looked up the passage. It was so damn dark, anything could be lurking in the black shadows.

Anything.

Snow frowned.

Her eyes widened.

"Emma!"

As Emma stepped out into gaping space, Snow dropped her bow and leaned forward, flinging her arm out and catching hold of her daughter's jacket at the neck. She wrenched Emma backward by the scruff of her neck and the torch and Emma's sword went flying. Emma herself jerked back and she tripped, stumbling into Snow and causing them both to tumble to the ground in a heap.

They half-sat, half-lay panting, their breathing loud in the silence, the shadows flickering in the torch light.

"What the hell?" Emma gasped. It was then she seemed to realise that her right leg below the knee was dangling in mid-air and she sat up higher on her hands to look. Snow struggled up onto her hands and knees and crawled forward to join her, the chain dragging along the ground.

To look down into the chasm that yawned beneath them.

"Shit," Emma breathed softly. She swallowed loudly and gingerly pulled her leg back over the edge of the sheer cliff.

"You ok?" Snow asked, groping about until her hand found Emma's. Their fingers entwined and grasped tightly together, as if to reassure themselves that they had, in fact, averted disaster.

Emma took a deep breath.

"Yeah. Thanks." She laughed shakily at the inadequacy of the word.

Snow sat up on her knees and grasped Emma under her arms.

"C'mon. Let's get back a little from the edge." She helped Emma to her feet and turned around, bending down to retrieve the sword. Emma reached down and picked up the torch, thankfully still burning.

They looked down again and Emma held the torch out and over the edge. It didn't light the way very far, but far enough for them to understand that it would have been a long way down indeed.

"I guess that rules out this tunnel," Emma joked weakly, stepping back and turning away from the edge.

Snow stared into the void a moment longer, her fingers tightening on Emma's hand, which she found she couldn't let go of. It was ironic really. She'd just hauled Emma back from tumbling alone into the unknown. Had grabbed her with a frantic force, desperate to keep her from falling. And yet, it was strange to think she'd done pretty much the opposite by choice when she had been but hours old. Sent her through a tree, to fall through time and dimension and realm and magic to the other side.

Snow felt Emma's eyes on her. Why must she think of this now? Emma was safe, standing right beside her. They were together. They were going to make it through whatever this was. And yet, the regret reared its ugly head at the most…

"Mary Margaret?"

And there it was again. Another reminder of the consequences of that decision.

Emma would never have called her Mary Margaret in that other life. There would never have been a Mary Margaret at all.

Snow inwardly cursed as she felt the itching slide of liquid down her cheek. She didn't want Emma to see that. To see her cry at the very thing Emma was angry at. She didn't try to keep hold as Emma pulled her fingers away from her own. Tried to understand what Emma was doing as she felt fingers brush her cheek, brush away the wetness. Felt Emma's hand grasp at her, turn her.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked, her eyes worried, brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

She'd been seconds away from losing her daughter forever. If not now, when?

Snow looked Emma square in the eye, eyes shining.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for…"

"Don't," Emma replied. Her grip on Snow's arm tightened. "I know what you're going to say, but…don't. I don't think I'm angry anymore. Not at you. I _was_. I was so angry for so long. But, this world…You gave up everything and I…can't be angry at that. There are things that happened because of it that never would have happened. Like Henry." Again, she squeezed Snow's arm. "So don't. I know it hurt you as much as it hurt me. You just forgot, I guess." She smiled crookedly and Snow's heart suddenly soared.

_Don't push it, Snow._

She remembered those words from her True Love. Words of caution. Words she'd tried to heed since then. He'd always had a knack for having the right words, the right advice. She couldn't wait to tell him how right he had been.

And he would marvel even more at the daughter who had taken down her own walls to comfort her mother.

Snow straightened and passed Emma's sword over.

"Well I'll never forget you again." She placed her own hand over Emma's briefly, before looking back the way they had come. "But, we still have two tunnels to check out and a competition to win."

* * *

Labyrinth was right.

The paths twisted and turned, meandering this way and that through the mountain. It was easy to see how one could become hopelessly lost in the dark, maze-like passages. All it would take was another dead-end, a moment of panic or a mistaken step and the rabbit-warren would swallow a person alive.

Emma had taken to marking the passages with arrows, using a chalky rock scratched on the walls. Her lines would guide them back to the original tunnel they had chosen, should they find themselves unable to proceed further. Having learned a valuable lesson from the first tunnel, their progress was cautious and careful, neither moving too far without a thorough exploration of the ground, the walls and the ceilings.

When Snow had told Emma of Lancelot's warning about ogres, her eyebrows had raised nearly into her hairline. A bewildered "huh" had been her only reply. Snow could hardly blame her. What did one say to sudden knowledge that ogres existed?

It had been Emma's only reply.

Until they saw one for themselves.

Snow took the lead for awhile, holding the torch high above her head to light the way before them. The air felt claustrophobic, gathering around them, stifling and heavy. Snow wasn't sure if that meant they were moving deeper into the mountain or simply closer toward…something.

Something they would have to face if they wanted to win.

They had heard only one scream during their journey and they were surprised even at that. It had sounded terribly close by and had been accompanied by a silence so complete, that both Snow and Emma had assumed whomever it was had fallen to their death or been run through in short order. It had caused them to lessen the already short distance between them and to grip their weapons tighter still.

Snow turned the corner.

She instantly froze and felt the impact of Emma's body as she ran into her from behind.

"What…?"

Snow spun and clapped her hand over Emma's mouth with such force that Emma collided with the wall behind her with a soft thump. Her eyes widened in confusion, but Snow only pressed her hand harder, pursing her lips in a silent shushing noise. She still held the torch in one hand and her bow and arrows, which had been slung over her shoulder had slipped down onto her arm at her sharp actions. Snow gazed into Emma's eyes, which were glittering in the light of the torch, and allowed her own to dart to the side, indicating for Emma to look. She prayed fervently that their arrival had gone unnoticed.

Emma immediately got the message and nodded curtly and Snow removed her hand slowly, feeling her daughter's warm breath come out in short bursts. She watched as Emma turned her head to see what Snow had seen.

It was sitting against the wall in a crouching position, its head nodding forward slightly. A chain was wrapped around one of its ankles, keeping it from moving too far along the passage. Emma's eyes widened even further as she watched it breathe in and out in a kind of snore/snarl. She turned back to Snow and mouthed "Ogre?" Snow nodded and Emma exhaled slowly. Quietly. Her eyes were drawn to the torch Snow held and she pointed to it questioningly. Snow shook her head and covered her eyes with her free hand, indicating the creature was blind. Emma blinked, staring into space as she thought. Finally, she met Snow's eyes again and lifted her hand, pointing first toward the ogre, then back the way they had come.

Snow weighed their options.

The ogre was clearly asleep. They had been able to make quite a bit of progress in the last little while, avoiding any dead ends and other frustrating obstacles. The fact that the creature was tied up meant Randolph had probably placed it there strategically. Snow took that as an indication that making it past the ogre would take them further toward making it out of the mountain.

A step closer to home.

Snow inclined her head toward the sleeping beast and nodded. Emma swallowed and raised her eyebrows, asking the question silently. Snow nodded again with a small smile and stepped carefully back from her daughter, adjusting the bow and quiver back onto her shoulder and switching the torch to her other hand. She put her finger to her lips and Emma rolled her eyes at the obvious instruction.

Together, they made the excruciating walk toward the ogre, its enormous shadow flickering across the wall, dwarfing their own. Its breathing was slow and even and the whites of its eyes were visible as its pupils moved behind its eyelids. Its skin was sallow, leading Snow to wonder if it ever saw the light of day.

She divided her attention between the approaching hulk and the ground in front of her. It would hardly do to trip over her own feet and alert it to their presence. It would all be over very quickly if that occurred. She cast the occasional glance at Emma beside her, whose eyes appeared glued to the ogre. Snow was hardly surprised, after all, Emma had never laid eyes on one before. As they came level with it and began to move past it, Emma began craning her neck backwards, never taking her eyes off it for a second. She seemed mesmerised, her expression frozen into a look of awed disgust.

Snow reached over and took her by the arm, which seemed to jolt her from her reverie. After a quick glance at Snow, Emma turned away from the ogre and moved slightly faster toward a curve in the passage.

Safety.

Snow refused to let them speak for a full ten minutes after that. It wasn't until they were safely out of earshot of the ogre's keen sense that she took Emma's arm again and stopped her.

Emma exhaled heavily, casting a glance back the way they had come.

"What else is down here?" she asked, laughing humourlessly.

Snow couldn't lie. There was no point anyway.

"Considering we need magic to get out, I suspect it's something far worse than an ogre."

The look on Emma's face said enough for both of them.


	13. Chapter 13

**(A/N If you read this chapter before I edited it, yes, it was the magical disappearing chain that tied them together. Serves me right. Sorry.) **

**A/N1 Hmm, I think I was feeling a bit violent when I wrote this. It turned out a bit bloodier than I anticipated-is it sick if I enjoyed it? Lol**

**A/N2 Hi to the Norwegians, Greeks and Belgians :) If I end up forgetting someone by the end of this...**

Chapter 13

It was beginning to feel like a tomb.

The air grew progressively colder the further into the labyrinth they travelled. The darkness was

unrelenting and the shadows cast by the flickering torch changed constantly. Emma found herself jumping, startled, on more than one occasion as the dark shapes morphed in her imagination to become people, formless monsters, ogres, animals. Their footsteps scraped along the ground, dislodging loose pebbles and creating an echo she was convinced held hidden footsteps behind them. She'd almost taken Mary Margaret's head off as she swung around, torch in hand, to catch out their pursuers.

"_I'll keep an eye out," Mary Margaret had reassured her. "I'll know if there's anyone behind us."_

How did her mother remain so calm?

Why was she the one to be so jittery?

They'd left the ogre far behind them, but occasionally they'd hear a low roar, which according to Mary Margaret, came from one of the creatures. To believe that there was only one would probably be foolish. The cave system was enormous.

And what else lurked out there?

Emma felt uneasy. She'd always been very aware of danger, clear and present. Known and weighed the risks of the moves she'd made, the threats and menaces attempting to hide behind every corner of her life. It was why she had never scared easily. She preferred a straight fight, two enemies face to face ready to go at it.

Not this sneaking around, darting about in the darkness in an attempt to outlast the others.

She scratched her arm nervously, peering down at her skin. For the last twenty minutes or so, her skin had felt like it was crawling, like tiny insects were burrowing themselves into her flesh, eating away at her. She had looked numerous times, but there was never anything there. Just the itching and the pinpricks.

She glanced over at Mary Margaret.

"What do we do now?" she asked. She looked up at the ceiling far above them. "We're going nowhere fast and we don't even know how the hell we're going to get out of here." She glanced down at her arm again. "What the hell _is_ that?" she asked, frustration marring her expression. She rubbed her hands up and down the tops of her legs, before staring at them.

Mary Margaret stepped up beside her, frowning.

"What's what?" she asked in reply, looking at Emma in concern. "Are you hurt?"

Emma rubbed her arm, checking for goosebumps. There were none, but the feeling remained.

And it was getting stronger.

"You don't feel that?" she asked. Was she going insane? "Can you look at this and tell me if I'm crazy?"

After holding her gaze for a moment, Mary Margaret took the torch from her and Emma held up her arms.

"I can feel it all over my arms. They itch like mad. Just tell me if you see anything."

She watched as her mother placed her weapons on the ground and lifted the torch higher. She took hold of first one, then the other arm and examined them closely, turning them this way and that to take in every visible inch. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Finally, she looked up at Emma.

"I don't see anything," she said helplessly, looking frustrated rather than disbelieving.

A sound made them both freeze, breath held tightly in their chests, arms and legs immobile, ears straining to catch it again.

There it was.

As if someone was standing at the end of the corridor behind them and had inhaled a large breath, expelling it in a whispered, gentle, barely audible "aaaaaaah."

Emma shivered as the hairs on the back of her neck slowly stood to attention.

A soft, breathy, almost musical sound, came from down the corridor. It sounded almost like someone blowing softly into a pipe, or trying to make a tune using the neck of a Coke bottle. In broad daylight, it would have sounded completely natural and unthreatening. But, down here in the darkness, everything came with something hidden beneath.

Emma shivered as a gentle breeze ghosted feather-light along her arms and across her cheek. She opened her lips, cracked and dry, attempting to breathe without allowing the slightest indication that she was taking in air at all. Without daring to turn her neck, she moved her pupils to the corners of her eyes until it started to give her a headache. Keeping them in that position, she tried to detect the barest of movements in the dark passage.

A wispy glimmer of light and...

There.

"Do you see that?" Mary Margaret breathed.

Emma gulped and nodded. She didn't know quite what she was looking at, but she could definitely see it. They both looked up to find the white, flowing shape floating barely metres from them. To Emma, it looked like it could have been a person only there was no face, at least not one that could be seen beyond the increasingly bright light emanating from its being. If she'd had to guess, she'd say it was a woman, simply because of the grace with which it drifted through the air. That such an ethereal thing could exist down here in the darkness was surprising. How could it survive down here? What did it want? How had it got here in the first place?

The…spirit...glided close to the roof of the cave, seemingly keeping up with the two of them, but then it suddenly swooped across in front of them, swerving to disappear into a passageway ahead.

"What is it?" Emma whispered. "Is it a ghost?" After everything they'd seen and done, ghosts sounded a little mundane. Unless it was some kind of malevolent spirit.

Mary Margaret shook her head.

"I'm not entirely sure. I've never seen a ghost, but I have heard stories of certain…spirits, I guess you could call them, being trapped in a void between worlds, unable to break through into either. This might be one, though I don't know why it would be down here."

Emma's lip curled in horror.

"Like the wraith? You mean this could have happened to us when we got sucked into the portal?"

Mary Margaret gave her an apologetic look.

"Maybe. But, the Blue Fairy once told me that something like this would only happen to someone blinded by their greed for…magic. Most people would merely be transported as we were, but if magic discerned their intentions to be anything other than true…"

Emma shook her head, struggling to come to terms with yet more other-worldly information.

"Wait, is that what the wraith was going to do to Regina? Send her to this between-place?"

"No," Mary Margaret replied. "The wraith was going to suck her soul out."

"Sure," Emma said weakly. Of course. Then her gaze sharpened. "Wait, you said magic!" She stopped and turned toward her mother. But, Mary Margaret was looking at the passageway the spirit had disappeared into.

"Yes," Mary Margaret whispered. "The Blue Fairy said they were doomed to spend eternity wandering, searching for magic but never able to truly have it. It would torment them. Bewitch them." She pulled them a few steps forward until she stood at the entrance to the passage, staring into it intently before looking back at Emma. "That's why it's down here in the dark. It's searching for magic. If we follow it, it just might lead us to our way out."

Emma looked around quickly, as if expecting some kind of magic to manifest itself out of the walls surrounding them.

"Magic's here?" She breathed. "Then why doesn't Randolph just come and get it himself? Why bother with the competition?" She came to stand beside Mary Margaret, who reached out and grasped hold of her arm, tugging a little to keep them moving, their footfalls continuing to echo.

"Because…" Mary Margaret replied, walking more and more purposefully down the passageway. "He needs something to trigger it. Or someone." Her grip tightened on Emma as she hurried them along, her jaw set. "He needs someone with magic to trigger it. Lancelot told us as much. The most powerful magic of all is True Love and _I_ have it." She looked back at Emma. "It might be just what we need. If Randolph wants a portal, we can intercept it, get to it first and get back to Storybrooke before he can."

Emma dragged her feet, slowing them down.

"Woah, woah woah. Just back up a second. You want to be Randolph's…trigger? What about me? I saved Henry with True Love's kiss." She spoke as if she knew what she was talking about. "_I_ can be the trigger."

Were they actually going to argue about who offered themselves up?

With her mother's next words, Emma realised that there would be no argument.

Mary Margaret smiled, her eyes warming Emma from the inside out.

"No, Emma," she replied. "Not you. Not this time. You've done enough saving. It's my turn." She took a deep breath and Emma braced herself, though for what she didn't know. It certainly wasn't for the gentle touch of her mother's hand pushing a tendril of greasy, messy hair out of her face. "I haven't had much of a chance to take care of you. To protect you. I know how capable you are of taking care of yourself. I've known since those first days after we met. But, things are different now. And even though I don't look a day older than you, right now I have one job. To be your mother, whether you need one or not. And you might feel like I've failed you in every possible way since the day you were born, but this time, _this time_, I won't fail. I'm going to open that portal and I'm going to save us. I'm going to get us back to our family."

Emma stared wordlessly at her mother. What could she say in the face of such fervent determination? She'd never felt so strongly about something. She'd never had cause to. Even when Henry had been lying in that hospital bed, all she could think of to do was kiss him goodbye. Sure, she'd fought a dragon, but that hadn't been out of some knowledge of the wider cause. She'd simply done what Gold and Regina told her to do. Followed instructions, still feeling the scepticism wafting around her like a fog.

No, what Mary Margaret was doing right now was something Emma had only read about in stories. Putting everything on the line for what was right. For what she loved.

It frightened Emma.

It awed her.

"Now, come on." Emma again felt herself being led down the passageway.

The spirit continued to hover ahead of them and they followed it, allowing it to lead them closer to the magic that must be somewhere nearby. Emma no longer scratched and rubbed her arms, but she was aware of the increase in the itching and crawling of her skin. She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on where they were being led, but the rising realisation inside her was becoming harder to ignore with every step.

She hadn't exactly shone here in the Enchanted Forest. Hadn't made the best decisions or coped in any satisfactory way, not by her own standards. But, she wasn't an idiot. She could see what was staring her in the face.

Or writhing under her skin, as the case may be.

That this feeling in her skin had some connection to what they were about to see. That _she_ was the one Randolph was looking for. That _she_ was the one who had magic.

And despite Mary Margaret's vehement speech, it would be Emma who saved them.

She felt a tug on her arm.

"Look," Mary Margaret pointed. The spirit had been joined by others and the curious musical sound increased in volume as they rounded a corner.

And stopped short.

It was a dead end.

The hard rock at the end of the passage clearly provided no way out.

Emma frowned.

"What are they all doing here?" she said, confused. "There's nothing here."

Mary Margaret pulled her forward.

"Not everything that's here can be seen, Emma."

Emma ducked as something whooshed past her head. The passageway was becoming more crowded. She set the torch down at an angle against the wall to free a hand and walked after Mary Margaret. They reached the end of the passage and she watched as Mary Margaret reached out a hand to touch the wall blocking their progress.

"The spirits...they're here for some reason," her mother said, running her hands along the rough rock, sometimes knocking, sometimes pushing against it. She placed an ear to the wall and listened. "It must be a place where a great deal of magic is gathered, which is why this was the last challenge Randolph gave us." She stepped back a little from the wall. "I have no idea how to unlock it though."

"Well, I wasn't sure any of the teams in this year's cohort would be worth it, but I'm glad I was wrong."

Both women spun around at the voice, Emma getting caught up in the chain binding them.

One of Randolph's guards stood in front of their only exit, a group of four others behind him.

Emma cast a sidelong glance at Mary Margaret. Had they been listening to their conversation?

"Are we going with them?" she asked quietly. She raised her hand and took hold of the chain to untangle herself.

It pulled apart in her hands.

The two pieces once connecting them dropped and swung against their legs with a long rattling sound. Emma stared down in shock, her head snapping up to meet Mary Margaret's gaze.

Her mother, instead of looking surprised, merely straightened her back and raised her chin.

"Ask me again," she said, the corners of her mouth turning slightly upward.

Emma's mouth opened, but she waited a moment before asking.

"Are we...?"

"Not if we can help it," came her mother's reply.

Emma smiled slightly and gripped her sword tighter, turning freely now to face the soldiers. It was moments like this when a little more of Mary Margaret slipped away, revealing the brave, fierce person that was Snow White. Her smile didn't last long, however, as the guards fanned out as they moved down the passage towards them. She felt Mary Margaret pull on her sleeve and she stepped back.

"The one on the far right looks very young," Mary Margaret whispered. "You're strong enough to surprise him and overpower him. I'll take care of the others."

Emma's eyes flicked across to her mother.

"All four?"

She saw her mother nod once.

"I've faced worse odds."

Emma knew that was a story she wanted to hear one day.

The guards continued to advance, their faces grim and resolute. Emma took a step to the side, then another one, edging toward the young guard on the right hand side. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if waiting for the inevitable moment when someone would break and make their move.

That someone was Mary Margaret.

Her bow was in her hands, arrow notched and released in the blink of an eye. A guard went down howling, his left leg collapsing beneath him as the arrow hit. Just as suddenly, in a blur of wood and arms and arrows, a second guard went down with a hit to the shoulder and their odds had just increased favourably.

Emma decided to waste no more time and charged the young soldier. She didn't know if it was because he was surprised or because she looked intimidating or because she was a woman or because her sword was bigger than his, but his fatal error came in his microsecond of hesitation. Emma swung her sword against his, baseball-style, and one hand lost its grip. She immediately kicked up with her foot and it cracked against the other hand. The soldier's sword clattered to the ground.

That seemed to jolt the young man into action.

Baring his teeth in anger, he reached down into his boot and pulled out a nasty-looking dagger. Emma, having no chance to even catch a glimpse of what Mary Margaret was doing, widened her stance.

What she wouldn't give for her gun right now.

She ducked as he swung the dagger at her and took a slight step back. Almost immediately, he swung again and she hissed as the blade stroked against her open hand and a thin line of blood appeared on her palm.

"You little shit!" She curled her lip at the sting.

As he again came at her, she moved forward this time, under his arm and against his body, throwing both of them forcibly backward. The guard tripped and they tumbled to the ground, the dagger slicing across Emma's face, causing her to swear violently.

She grabbed at the dagger as it came at her yet again, holding the soldier's wrist with her uninjured hand. They struggled against each other, hands and legs clawing, kneeing, shoving.

The dagger waved forth across the space between them.

* * *

Snow could barely spare a glance for Emma as the two guards moved towards her. She reached behind her for another arrow.

One of the guards darted forward and this time she knew there was no way she would get an arrow off in time. She adjusted and tightened her grip on the bow and as the soldier reached her, she wound up and swung it upwards at his face, catching his nose and causing his head to snap back. He groaned and went down on one knee, blood pouring from his face, and Snow jumped back, ready to help Emma.

She saw her daughter and the young guard rolling around on the ground in a death struggle. From the limited view she had, Snow could see both had cuts marking their faces and hands. She took a step forward, trying to judge in what way she could actually help. Emma seemed to be holding her own. The dagger was in her hand...

His presence was in her space before she could even react.

The fourth guard kicked the bow out of her hands and Snow turned to face him, stumbling slightly. She bent her knees, ready to duck, weave and otherwise dodge whatever attack he was about to make.

She didn't expect him to throw down his sword.

She didn't expect the sudden bearhug, which squeezed the breath out of her.

Didn't expect to be bodily lifted off the ground.

And flung.

She closed her eyes as her back hit the wall of rock.

* * *

The dagger was at her throat when she kneed his crotch. The soldier yelped and Emma wrenched the weapon from his hand, turning the point toward him. He began wrenching himself from side to side, but she was focused now, the whole of her weight pressed against him and her knee against his groin, ready to jerk upward again. He resisted as the dagger came towards him, both of their hands shaking from exertion.

It was the last roll of the dice.

He growled and pushed against her, but the knife slid into his chest too easily and his eyes widened, his breath expelling in a sharp sigh. Emma held the handle gasping, her mouth gaping open, kneeling in front of the guard. He put a hand out and heaved himself onto his knees, reaching a hand up to feebly grab for the knife, his strength rapidly waning.

Emma stared at him in horror. It was kill or be killed, of course it was. He had been about to run her through. But, here he was, gushing blood and his life's energy at her hand. He suddenly slumped forward onto her and the two of them went crashing to the ground. Emma wriggled, trying to push him off her. He had become a deadweight. She shoved harder and managed to free herself enough to roll out from under him. He settled down on the ground with a groan and she got up on her hands and knees again, breathing hard. Sick to her stomach.

At the muffled yelp, Emma's eyes snapped up and she saw Mary Margaret in fierce combat with a guard, her bow lying on the ground a few metres away. The guard, a hundred pounds heavier and a foot taller, handled her as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. He picked her up and flung her backwards…

Mary Margaret's back crashed against the wall and she slumped to the ground, out cold.

Emma's panting breaths suddenly became the only audible sound.

Then she moved.

"Mary Margaret! Mary Margaret!" Emma cried out, clumsily reaching out, cupping her mother's face and shaking it. There was no response and Emma knelt there uselessly, pulling her hands back and clenching them at her sides. She looked up at the guard, who had armed himself, swinging his sword, readying himself for what he knew would be some kind of retaliation.

Emma looked around herself at the carnage and at her mother's prone body. She spotted a sword lying on the ground and scrambled over to pick it up, clenching it in some kind of death grip as she turned to the guard.

"What did you do?" she screamed angrily, her teeth bared.

There was rage, blinding her to the danger, filling her with boldness. It boiled up inside her and she felt her strength just itching to break out. This, _this_ was what Mary Margaret had been talking about. Fighting for what was right. Fighting for them. Their family. No, she'd never had cause to do that.

Not until now.

Because no matter the history, her anger and confusion, the separation…no matter what had happened in the past…

She could never be without Mary Margaret.

She charged forward, the sword held high and it was her sheer will that helped the first swings and thrusts of her weapon find a target, though the soldier seemed to repel her attacks quite easily. She grunted with every wild thrust, the sound ragged and pained in her ears.

Until the soldier decided he'd had enough.

His parries and dodges turned into sharp jabs forward, knocking her sword this way and that and it was all she could now to hold onto the handle. She found herself being forced back, a step or two at a time. She cried out in anger and frustration at the absurdity of it all, at her inability to hold the damn sword properly, at the fact that there was no way she was going to beat the soldier back.

At the fact that she wouldn't be able to save her mother or herself from being captured.

The soldier was smiling as he pushed her back closer and closer to the wall. One particularly forceful thrust forward had her taking a big step back.

Her foot collided with Mary Margaret's prone body, but momentum wasn't finished with her. Her body continued moving and she quickly twisted herself half around, throwing her other leg out to step over her mother. Her ankle rolled and she lunged, putting a desperate hand out to catch herself against the wall.

And suddenly she was falling into space, eyes squeezing shut at the impending impact.

* * *

She hit the ground with a thud and groaned as her elbows, her knees, her chin scraped along the cold stone floor. She panted loudly as she waited for the sting to subside. Finally, Emma raised herself to her hands and knees, took a deep breath and lifted her head up, tossing her hair out of her face.

She stared.

Her mouth opened.

Her eyes widened.

The ogre, barely fifty feet from her, roared in fury.

"Seriously?" she whispered, staggering to her feet. Where the hell had it come from? Had it heard the sounds of their fight? Was it even the same one they had eluded before? Where were the soldiers?

Shit, where was Mary Margaret?

"Mary Margaret?" she called out shakily, turning her head this way and that. She spun on the spot.

What the hell? The rock wall was somehow on the other side of her now. She felt turned upside down.

And then she saw Mary Margaret, still lying on the ground, beginning to move weakly.

On the other side of the wall.

Emma stared at the wall for a moment, unable to believe what had happened. She took a few steps toward the wall and reached out a hand, hesitating before touching the stone. As her fingers made contact, the entire wall rippled, blurring the view of the other passage.

Magic.

It was the only explanation Emma could think of. The only explanation for how she could have fallen through the wall to a passageway on the other side.

Mary Margaret had touched the same wall and nothing had happened.

That confirmed it.

_She_ was, in fact, the one with the magic.

Before she could even begin to think about what that might mean, the ogre roared again and the ground shook underneath her as it stamped its way towards her. And suddenly she felt like one of those tiny little humans in Jurassic Park trying to outrun the Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Except she didn't have anywhere to run to, but back through the wall where the guards waited with their shining swords.

But, at least they were people. She certainly knew people better than ogres.

Without daring to look back at the beast behind her, Emma strode at the wall.


End file.
